Redemption of the Conquered
by Hessa
Summary: Forced into a life of brutality, she must overthrow others to survive. When she is finally taken from that forsaken place, will she go back to the life she knew or follow the one who finally conquered her?
1. Duels

**Redemption of the Conquered**

They were cruel men, these soldiers waiting in the hall. They reveled in war and found death and gore to be compelling. How she could do this night after night was a question that often went through her mind. Waiting behind that red curtain was like waiting for hell to consume her, it's flames ready to feed on her flesh and blood. She dreaded the waiting, because every night she knew what she would have to do on the other side.

" Send in the girl!" a booming voice shouted.

And there it was, her call to march into a room of vipers, all waiting to see who will survive this night. She had been in this bastion for nearly four years and was to stay until her death, whether by accident or of old age. She was a slave from the south, captured because of her rare appearance. In this land they called Britain, women like her were much sought after by the Roman men of high authority. Her skin was much darker than that of the women here because of her days in the deserts of her country. Her hair was a deep mahogany, like that of the ancient cedars in the east. The soldiers often spoke of the mystery held within her eyes, a swirling darkness that could claim them to the devil himself, for she was his servant, his means to poisoning the lives of the innocent with sin and lust. That is what they believed, these Roman soldiers.

She was of Arabian descent, a nomad of the Bedouin tribe Hamdânis. Her people traveled for twelve moons, going from one oasis to another, one village to another. As a traveling tribe, they would learn skills from the villages they stayed near. This was their way; they thrived on learning and perfecting different crafts from all over Arabia.

She was not a normal slave, far from that. When they had taken her away from her people, she had fought with all that she possessed. She was very skilled with the twin sabers, deadly almost. She had slit the throats of seven men before they were able to restrain her. As the commander walked among the bodies of his dead soldiers while she was forced into chains, he determined her sentence.

" On this day, you have slain my men and by your tainted hand sent them to a world of torment, a hellish place. You too then, shall spend your days in hell, spilling the blood of others to keep your own".

And so she served her sentence. She would stay in that stone fortress, locked up deep in the bowels of the earth, and wait for the time when she would be summoned each night. She would be adorned with cloths of velvet and silk and her skin would be laced with black Latin markings. She never knew what they meant, but she suspected they were yet another way of branding her as a slave. Once she was called forth from the behind the curtains, she would be faced with the many faces of traveling roman soldiers, legionnaires and commanders who would come to rest and regroup. And always, in the center of the grand stone hall, there would be another slave, dressed in more or less the same garb as she.

Then the inevitable would come, when that damned drum would sound and they would engage in combat. The one who lives goes back to the dungeons and the one who dies escapes into the arms of death. She had often thought of allowing herself to be slain, more so these days.

There is only so much blood a person can spill, only so much life a person can take without wanting to end their reign of death and submit to the darkness. But she had made a promise to herself, that for her people, for those who had been tortured and those who had their breath ripped from their bodies, she would fight for her own life, her own freedom.

These days, hope for her freedom was scarce.

"Send in the Girl!"

The girl. That's what they called her. Honestly, she preferred it that way. She could take on the identity of "the girl" and do what she must to survive, without staining her true name, or at least it helped a little. When she was fighting, she was "the girl", not Ranya.

At the sound of Gallus's call, she stepped through the curtain. She was greeted with jeers and crude remarks, the shifty eyes of the men roaming over her body.

"You know what to do, so get to it. And make it interesting eh!" Gallus said, handing her the knives.

Interesting. That's what this was to these people. They wanted blood and gore; they craved it, as if they didn't get enough of it every other day.

She turned to the center of the hall, and her eyes locked with those of a young girl holding a spear. By Manât, she couldn't be more than seventeen! She had dark hair, but her skin was light. 'She must be of the shoreline tribes. Sulaym maybe'. The girl was frightened, that much was obvious. But there was something else there. Her eyes were set, determined and although her hands were shaking, she tried to hold her composure.

Ranya could see it; this girl did not want to die. Well, neither did she, but what choice did she have. The guilt would have to wait till later, when as every other night, it would conquer her, as her adversary could not. Then she would cry and beg the dead for forgiveness, but not now, not this moment.

The drums sounded and the young girl charged towards Ranya. She attacked with the spear raised above her head and as she lowered her arm to strike, Ranya rolled to her right and planted her long knife firmly into the girl's stomach. Blood seeped onto the silver handle, flowing down Ranya's arm. She pulled her knife out and the girl fell to her knees, her eyes slowly glazing over, waiting for the final surge of death to claim her body.

The young girl had never fought another person before. The injustice of it all made Ranya livid, but then again had the girl been a good fighter, Ranya's chance of survival would have diminished. How she hated her way of thinking now, so simple, so blunt, as if another human's life was a mere spec of dust that had fallen into her eye. This was something else she had to fight. She could not allow herself to dehumanize her adversaries, so after the duals she would replay what she had done, remember the sounds and the smell of the room as she killed the other. If this voluntary torture would serve her mind and soul any purpose, she did not know, but perhaps it was a start to her eventual absolve.

Ranya stood and went towards the stone steps where Aelius Gallus was seated. She dropped the weapons at his feet and fell to her knees. Her hands were shaking and she felt she could not breathe, as if the ghost of the fallen girl was trying to take Ranya to the chasm of death with her.

"Well, again you survive. I must say this is becoming a little predictable. I will have to find a more skilled opponent. Romus, Gaius, take her down now" Gallus said.

The two guards chained her wrists again and led her to the staircase. They descended towards the dungeons and shoved her into her cell.

"Bloody savage, you won't last much longer. You count your days girl, for Gallus will find a deadly opponent for you, and when he does it'll be your blood on those stones!" one of them said, looking at her as if she were leprous.

She was left alone in her anguish. This agony was always present after the duels. She was summoned four or five times a month to entertain the various men who passed through the fort. Sometimes it was more; depending on how many saves Gallus's men would come across. Most slaves went to Rome to serve the empire, but when Gallus saw her arrive to his fort four years ago, he wanted her as his own. A temptress, he called her. She was sixteen then.

She stared at the dancing shadows splayed on the stone wall of her cell, the candles in the drafty corridor casting a glow on her barely discernable markings. Out of habit, she touched the brand that was on the back of her right shoulder. She could still remember that night vividly, she smell of hot iron and burning flesh. Gods she suffered that night, not only because of the pain, but also because she was claimed now. She was to wait for the slaughter, her demise as the conquered surrendered to the conqueror.


	2. A state of despair

Disclaimer: To my dismay, I own nothing except my original character…

AN: Just to clarify, in the preceding chapter, Ranya says something about Manât, who was one of the three most important gods in the pagan religion of the Bedouins.

Also, thank you to my sole reviewer thus far. Glad you like it.

Chapter II

Three months had passed since the death of the young girl and six more slaves had died by Ranya's hand. She was exhausted, both mentally and physically. The last two slaves had been men and both battles had been arduous on her. She was nearly killed by the last, but her slight figure and quick feet had saved her from certain death. She still gained a few injuries though. Speaking of which, her shoulder was throbbing from when the man had thrown her against a stone pillar. She had fought the man last night and had slept the entire day, but her entire body was sore and she was painfully aware of every bruised and battered muscle, bone and joint in her body.

Lying in her cot, which was pressed up against the stone wall, she wondered at how long she would last. She liked to think that she was strong, that she could take anything they threw at her, but she was slowly coming to a grave realization. She could very well die during the next week because she had herd rumors of a group of warriors traveling to the fort. If this was true, Gallus would undoubtedly find a slave for her to fight. And this fight she would likely lose, she could feel it. When she had first arrived here, she was always able to recover rather quickly from the duels. Now though, she was tired, she was hurting and she was bloody cold.

Her thoughts were interrupted as the lock to her cell was being rattled and the door opened.

" Good evening Ranya, I've brought the oil for your hands," a raven-haired woman said. This was Ashena, the closest thing to a friend she had in this dreaded place. When she had arrived here, the slightly older woman had been assigned to dress her before the duels. The pair became friends quite rapidly after that. Ashena was also a slave, but she was a chambermaid who tended to the needs of the traveling men. Ashena's heart went out to Ranya, because every time she saw her after a fight, she could sense Ranya's despair, which was becoming more and more apparent by the day.

" Thank you Shena" Ranya said. She slowly sat up on her cot, making a creaking noise. Actually, that noise could have been her bones grinding together for all she knew. Gods she felt old! She unraveled the cloth around her hands and let Ashena take her hand carefully.

" Do you still wake with pains in your joints?" Ashena asked as she rubbed the oil into the skin of her hands.

" Every day" she said simply. Ranya was not used to the cold whether here. In her country, the sun was always hot on her skin and she had become accustomed to that. This awful place was always cold and wet, the winters even worse, with bitter winds and storms with no end. Her joints would often seize up because of the cold wet air. She could not remember a day since she had been here where she had actually felt comfortably warm, or comfortable at all, for that matter. Her cell made it worse, because it was deep under the ground and had no windows. Shena had often told her the summers were much better, but she never saw the summers. She never saw much of the outside world, come to that.

" Ranya, don't give up. You must keep fighting" Shena said. She had noticed Ranya's distant stare and knew she was thinking about her condition.

"I am tired Ashena. I am tired of this life and my body screams it every night. It won't take anymore of this torture. My mind has had enough of the bloodshed."

Ranya looked at the maid intently, her eyes displaying her misery so blatantly that Shena could not hold her stare. This girl could always make one shudder with her eyes. It seemed she used them as another way of communicating with others and at the moment, their darkness showed too much pain and desolation that Shena looked back down to Ranya's hands, ashamed.

" Is it true Shena, the rumor about the warriors coming to the fort?" Ranya asked after a moment of silence.

" Yes, it is true" she said looking up from the new bandages she was applying to Ranya's swollen hands.

" Conall, the stable boy, said that they are Sarmatian knights, lead by Arthur Castus himself" Shena finished, looking expectantly at Ranya.

" Do you not know of him?" Shena asked in response to the look on Ranya's face.

" Well, news does not travel as fast down here Shena" Ranya said in a somber tone.

" I'm sorry Ranya, I didn't-

" Don't apologize Shena, it's not your fault I'm here." Ashena still looked remorseful, so Ranya placed her hand on her's, making her stop her ministrations upon Ranya's bandages and look up.

" So these knights, do you know when they will arrive?" Ranya asked, leaning back against the wall slowly.

" Well Conall was busy preparing the bigger stalls in the stable, so I presume they should arrive soon, perhaps in the next few days."

At this Ranya sighed and looked away. A few days. That was all she had to recover her strength for the next duel. She would be marching to her death. Ashena knew by the look on her face what Ranya was contemplating.

" Ranya, please, just make it through one more fight! We will take it one night at a time, alright? I can come twice a day for your injuries and I could manage to bring you better food. We could ask Caius to-

" Ashena look at me. I am weak; I cannot even stand on my own much less march through that curtain. How am I supposed use my blades if I can barely lift my arm? I will not win this fight. " Ranya's eyes were glistening with tears making them look like pools of black fire.

" We can find a way, we must find a way. M-maybe if I tell Gallus you are ill, he would wait," Shena's voice was quavering now. She could not lose her friend to such a painful death.

" No Ashena, you know that will not work. He is tired of me, they all are. They want me dead, I have survived too long and they know I am weak now".

Ashena looked down at her hands, tears streaming down her face. She knew Ranya was right, but she had not accepted the fact yet, not like Ranya had.

" There ye are woman, cook's been lookin fer ya everywhere. You're ta go to the guests chambers with the others to prepare, the knights'll be here by midday tomorrow" a burly, rough looking man said to Ashena through the bars. His eyes lingered on Ranya's hands for a moment and he shook his head before leaving them, the sound of his footsteps dissipating down the long corridor.

" Tomorrow Ashena… I won't survive it, there is no way!" Ranya said frantically. She was truly frightened now. In her country, children were taught from an early age to embrace death, as it was but another stage in their lives. But the death her people spoke of was a peaceful death, a death of old age and one that was surrounded by the people you loved. Not a gory, merciless execution. Not humiliating defeat, spurred by the cheers of cruel men, eagerly waiting for the prey to succumb to its butchery. How would she sleep tonight, how would she do anything, think of anything, knowing that the time of her death was set for the following night.

" Arthur!" Ashena exclaimed, wiping the tears from her face. Ranya looked up, startled by Ashena's sudden cry. Ashena regained her composure and spoke normally this time.

" Ranya, tomorrow, I will speak with Arthur Castus. I have heard others speak of him; they say he is a good man, a merciful man. If I tell him of you, he might be able to help."

Ranya looked doubtful at this. " Shena, this Arthur Castus, he is roman?"

Ashena gave Ranya an exasperated stare " Ranya, not all Romans are like Gallus and the soldiers who watch you fight. I am roman. Do you think me a menace?"

At this, Ranya felt shameful of her discrimination of the Romans.

" I am sorry Shena. Of course you are not a menace. It is only that being sold as property from one Roman to another has not given me much of warm impression of them. It was wrong of me to judge, I should know better". She should. She herself had been loathed by most of the people she had encountered on her way to this island, and thus knew what it felt like to have that blind hatred directed at her.

" Listen Ranya, this is your last recourse. I will find a way to speak with Arthur tomorrow. You must get some rest, in case…" she left off, not wanting to finish her sentence.

" In case I must fight" Ranya finished, in a whisper.

Shena stared at Ranya, a sudden wave of determination settling on her features.

"NO, you will not fight. Tomorrow, you shall be freed, I will make sure of that."

" Oy! Woman, hurry the hell up, or we'll find you a cell of your own, if you're so happy with the accommodations!" someone screamed from the top of the stairwell.

Shena quickly gathered the vial of oil and the soiled bandages in her hands, looking back at Ranya one last time.

"Sleep Ranya, try not to think about tomorrow". With that Shena strode out of the cell, closing the barred door behind her. The echoes of the slamming metal door drowned her footsteps. And again, Ranya was alone. " Try not to think about tomorrow". Ashena's words floated through her head like a desert sandstorm. How could she possibly think of anything else? Would this Arthur agree to help her? And even if he would, Gallus would never allow it. She belonged to him.

She lay down on her cot, wincing as her shoulder rubbed against the wall. Resting her head on the thin mattress, she felt something wet on the front of her thigh. She reached her hand towards it, and realized it was blood. Damn, her wound had reopened. She painstakingly reached over to the small wooden stool Shena had been sitting on. She had left a few clean cloths for Ranya, and she applied one to her thigh forcefully. 'Look at me. This is what I am supposed to fight with' she thought. Over the course of her time here, she had accumulated quite a number of injuries. Some had healed well, others still caused her trouble. She had had a rough time healing from a mallet to the ribs once, an experience that taught her that such an indispensable act such as breathing could also cause quite a bit of pain. And of course there were her knuckles, which were constantly afflicted by the cold, wet conditions of her living quarters.

Her body had betrayed her and left her for dead. It had given up and was waiting for Ranya to give up as well.

" Allah, I beg of you. Spare my soul from this torture. Free me or kill me, but do not leave me in this half life" she whispered, hoping that somehow her prayer could escape from these stone walls.

So there's another chapter. Please, please, please review! Reviews are this story's life support so be a good citizen, don't pull the plug! I really want to know how this thing is going so far.

Hessa


	3. Discoveries

* * *

Disclaimer: And once again, I own nothing except my character. The knights, alas, will never be mine…

Thank you to my reviewers, I really appreciate your comments guys!

The Knights had been riding through the night, not wanting to stop for fear of being stuck in the ever-growing storm. What a nightmare, to be riding in the thick of winter. They could thank Rome for that later. They had first received word of this mission a month ago and it had been of the utmost urgency. The land of a Roman missionary was being attacked more and more frequently by a group of marauders, who were hoping to eventually overthrow the Roman and take his land for their own. The missionary, as the knights had discovered, was a good man. He used his land as a temporary settlement for peasants and travelers who had been forced out of their homes because of wars and taxes. When the raiders had first started to attack the grounds, the refugees had driven them out, for they were grateful to the missionary man. It was because of these people that the man had survived this long, but by the time the knights had arrived they were in desperate need of aid. As Sarmatian knights, it was rare that they ever went on a mission without having their thoughts be clouded with contempt. It was missions like these however, that sometimes made them forget they were slaves to Rome, because they were helping others who were in a similar situation: forced to be in a place they did not want to be.

Tristan however, had not forgotten that he was in service to Rome. The large gash on his forearm was a big enough reminder. He still couldn't believe that fat, graceless insult of a fighter back at the missionary's grounds had achieved in giving his arm this lovely new adornment. Bloody Lancelot. If he would have only stopped mocking Bors' abilities with that improvised spear he was using, he would have seen the man to his left reaching for a dagger, and Tristan would never have had to intervene.

"Ey, Tristan! You still sulking over that scrape you got!" Gawain yelled as he rode up to Tristan's side. They were all riding quite fast, and against the devastating winds, so they had to yell fairly loudly to be heard.

" I am not sulking" Tristan yelled back. 'Idiot. I don't sulk' he thought with a sense of indignation.

"Course he is! If it weren't for Lancelot's big mouth, Tristan wouldn't be nursing a bloody arm and I-

"Wouldn't be nursing a bruised ego!" offered Lancelot with a sly grin.

"I lost my sword and that bloody piece of wood was the only thing I could find as a suitable replacement, alright!" Bors yelled to Lancelot, irritation clearly showing in his face.

"Suitable replacement! Bors, I think I shall have the image of you trying to fight off those bastards by twirling that pretty stick burned into my memory till the day of my death!" Lancelot replied, laughing all the while.

The other knights also found some amusement in recalling Bors' beautiful display of skill with the piece of fence he had used. Even Arthur thought the image was entertaining. Bors may be a good fighter and an even braver knight, but he still remains completely inept at fighting with anything that is not pointy and made of metal.

" That could be arranged you know!" a resentful Bors answered. He had noticed that the other men were smiling, no doubt recalling what Lancelot had.

" Alright, settle Bors. You were truly magnificent back there. Now can we please finish this bout of ribbing and get the hell out of this storm. Gallus' fort should be close and I am sure you are all eager to rest for the night," Arthur said.

" Here, here! Wonder what the women look like at this fort" Gawain said.

" Not that it make's much of a difference for Bors. The poor cuckold will take whatever he can get!" yelled Lancelot, urging his horse to go faster as Bors was suddenly riding after him.

The rest of knights followed with Gawain and Galahad laughing loudly at Lancelot's remark. They would reach Gallus' wall come nightfall.

* * *

Ranya was sitting up in her cot and was presently trying to move her arms. 'They feel like rocks' she thought. Shea had barely slept during the night, although who could blame her. She didn't think people who were to be sentenced to death found much of a peaceful night's rest before they were sent to the slaughter. She slowly lifted her right leg, bending her knee and turning her ankle. Well, they hurt, but the pain was lesser in comparison to her sides and arms. Her thigh was burning, and she was afraid that the wound that had reopened during the night would become infected. Shena had come around midday after her chores to see how Ranya was. She saw Ranya's thigh and immediately went to fetch some boiling water. She would be coming back later to see to her pains again, before the night's duel. By Shena's silence, Ranya knew that the knights had not yet arrived at the fort. And in any case, if they had, she would have heard the commotion of servants at the top of the stairwell, bustling about trying to get everything ready.

If this Arthur was as merciful as Ashena claimed, could she truly have a chance at escaping this ongoing affliction? By the fading light of the day, welding itself with the colors of dusk, Ranya prayed with fevered abandon that this man, these knights, could somehow spare her life.

* * *

When the knights had arrived at the gates of Gallus' fort the guards had rush to let them gain entrance. As they looked around, they could see that here was nothing inviting about the place. Men in arms and uniforms were walking through the main street, some with a purpose, others with aimless pursuits. There was no indication that families resided here and the streets held a distinct rigidity. You wouldn't hear the sound of children's laughter in these dreary whereabouts.

" Damn, wouldn't want to be stationed here. Place looks as sickly as me babe's swaddling band." Bors murmured to Dagonet, who himself was trying to perceive some shred of humanity within these walls.

" Ah, Commander, we were wondering upon the time of your arrival. If you will allow it, we will take your horses to the stables for you". A tall, cleanly shaven man said, motioning to several younger men behind him. A crowd was slowly gathering around the knights, all wanting to get a glimpse of Rome's peons.

" We thank you, but if you would simply direct us to the stables, we will tend to our horses, sir" Arthur replied. He knew his men always wanted to take care of their horses themselves, and so did he.

" Of course my Lord, if you would follow me" the man said, turning towards a grand stone archway, motioning for the knights to follow his lead.

Tristan was riding behind, a rare thing for him to do, but for some reason he felt he needed to assess the place more carefully. He never liked to go to other Roman forts; living in one was enough for him. He looked around, his dark eyes scanning the dispersed crowds of roman soldiers. His gaze landed on a group of men, all circling two men who were engaged in a mock duel. He never understood why these Romans always tried to entertain themselves by fighting. He certainly never thought of battle as entertaining. At this, he thought of how many people back at Hadrian's Wall would say the opposite of him. For Tristan, bloodlust was different than this pathetic swagger. When in battle, he often found himself so overtaken by the will to defeat, to conquer, that the fact that he was taking a life never really affected him. Of course, it would catch up to him after and, as he assumed, later on in his life, when his body would not be useful for battle and all that would serve him would be his memory.

As they passed under the high passageway, Tristan looked up and took notice of the craftsmanship. 'These roman's and their arches! He thought, all the while scratching the stubble on his cheek.

As they neared the end of the passage, Tristan, being the last in line, was able to discern the fading remarks of the boasting idiots, the clatter of their swords still ringing in the air.

" Ey, lads, don't wear yourselves out now. You want to be awake for the she-devil's dual, don't ya?" said a voice.

"Oh, to be sure. I hear tonight's the night you know. We'll finally have the pleasure of seeing the little bitch beg for her life," said another voice, whose comment was followed by loud cheers.

'She-devil? What does that mean, I wonder', Tristan thought as he finally reached the end of the passage, where a large stable with a high roof greeted his sight. He pushed the soldier's comments from his mind as he dismounted. He'd find out sooner or later.

" Tristan, when you are done unsaddling Hétouyn ( AN: pronounced Hé-to-wyn) , find Dagonet for your arm. I don't want a feverish scout on our journey home" Arthur said as he approached the stall Tristan was settling his horse in. He nodded his response and turned to put the saddle on the wooden ledge. The movement pained him a little and he noticed a trickle of blood streaming down to his elbow. He held his forearm and bent his elbow and wrist and flexed his fingers. Of all the injuries to get, it had to be on his good arm. It would hurt like hell the next time he would string his bow. Bloody Lancelot.

"Alright, let me bandage it. Won't do you any good to open it any further" said Dagonet, who had strode over to Tristan, medicine pouch in hand, upon seeing his comrade assessing his wound.

"Gods, what I wouldn't do for a nice shoulder rub from a willing woman," Galahad said, stretching his arms back.

" Don't worry lad, we'll see you good and satisfied once that beard o' yours comes in" Bors teased. This brought on a snort of laughter from Gawain and a nasty look from Galahad. Being the youngest had all kinds of drawbacks, merciless teasing of sexual endeavors being one of them.

" Sir knights, my Lord, Aelius Gallus, requests you join him in his map room" a man said, who had seemingly appeared from nowhere in particular. He had a long face that framed a pinched nose and, as Gawain quietly pointed out, had a very feminine gait that made many of the other knights mildly uncomfortable. Of course, such things were not unheard of, but they preferred to remain blissfully ignorant of the sexual preferences of some men.

" Of course" replied Arthur, who had refrained from smiling at Gawain's observation, which all seemed to have heard except the subject of said observation.

* * *

Ashena had heard of the Sarmatian knights' arrival and was now running up the stone steps of the north tower. Brigid, a servant girl from the kitchens, had been sent to help bring platters of food to the Commander's map room, where, as she had informed Ashena, the knights would be dining.

Upon receiving this news, Shena had immediately set out to find them. As she neared the map room, usually closed to all, she saw the nights being greeted by Gallus. She took a platter from one of the oncoming servants and went through the other door, which was to be used by the servants. She noticed a tall, dark haired man and immediately recognized him to be Arthur Castus. Only a leader could have such a presence. Six other knights, all tall and imposing, accompanied him. She quickly exited the room and waited round the corner. She would try and speak with Arthur after they had dined, no matter how long it took. She settled herself on the ground, hidden behind a large armory cabinet, and waited.

* * *

The knights had been seated around a long table made of dark wood in a large room that was teeming with red drapes and roman banners. It was enough to intoxicate them with all things roman and disdain could be visible on each of the knights' faces because of it. Except Arthur of course. They were almost through with the meal and the only one's engaged in a semblance of conversation were Arthur and this Gallus. Well, conversation might not be the word. More like monologue…on Gallus' part. The others could not be bothered; food and a comfortable seat were all they cared for at the moment.

"…and the Woads! No better than the rogue militia! Did you know that I lost nearly one hundred men to those filthy pests in the last two months? Pah! To rid the world of such vermin would be a blessing!" ranted Gallus.

" These are troubled times, Commander. My condolences for the loss of your men" Arthur said, clearly trying to end Gallus' tirade on mass murders.

" Yes, yes, well, they knew death was their destiny," said Gallus, waving his hand in the air as if the lives of so many meant nothing. The knights looked up from their plates at his careless dismissal of such a great loss of life. Roman or not, a man still had the right to have his death respected.

" Gentlemen, I have no doubt you must be weary of your travels. You will be lead to your chambers presently. I do request, however, that you come down to the hall after you have bathed. I believe you will find great amusement there this night," he said, with a grin. At this Tristan narrowed his eyes at the Commander and he recalled the conversation he had overheard earlier. What did this man consider amusement, exactly?

Gallus snapped his fingers and one of the servants who was waiting in the corner came forward.

" Bring them to their quarters" Gallus commanded coldly.

As the knights arose to leave, the servant exited the room and stood out in the hall, waiting for them to emerge.

" Boy, go bring this plate down to the visiting legionnaire." Said Ashena, who had come out from her hiding place.

" But the Commander, he said I had to accompany the knights to-

"Yes, yes, I know, but the legionnaire has been waiting and you are faster than I. Don't trouble yourself, I will show the knights to their quarters"

"But-

"GO I said!" The boy quickly took the platter and ran down the hall just as the door opened.

As Arthur emerged, Ashena bowed and told him and his men to follow her. They were talking amongst each other in quiet tones while she lead the way. She would wait until they reached the eastern pavilion of the guest quarters. There were no other guests there at this time because it had been made ready for the knights only.

Once she neared the farthest door in the corridor, she turned to the men suddenly, her wide eyes magnified by the glow of the nearby torches.

" Lady, are these our rooms?" Arthur asked, aware of her slightly apprehensive look.

" Yes my Lord. But …forgive me, m-may I speak freely my Lord" Ashena was so nervous; her palms were slick with sweat.

" Well, yes, of course" Arthur replied, looking over at Lancelot who simply raised an eyebrow, demonstrating what all the knights were thinking.

" My Lord, I have a favor to ask. I have heard that, y-you are a good man, a just man, and I truly hope I have not been false in my intentions of speaking with you tonight." She exclaimed, almost in a whisper.

" I assure you Lady, that we are most noble in _our_ intentions, so if you are need of something, simply state it", Arthur said, sensing that this woman was deeply disturbed about something.

" It is not I who need's aid, my Lord, but my friend. She is a slave here. Not a servant like I, who was born into this life. She was taken from her people, in the desert lands, by force" she stressed this last word.

"Why was she taken?" Bors asked. Surprised by this new voice, Ashena looked to its owner.

" She is rare to them. She is different from women of this island my lord. Women like her are much sought after by the Romans. But Ranya, she is not well, Sir. She is injured and weak and I sense she will die tonight if she is not helped!" Ashena said in a hurried tone.

" What have they done to her?" Tristan asked, now making a connection with what the Roman's had said near the stables. He wondered what kind of torture this Gallus had put her through; if was as horrible as what he had gone through. He hoped for this woman's sake it was not so. He knew what kind of pain one could endure at the hands of other men. He knew all too well.

" She is entertains them. She is forced to fight other slaves, like herself, to amuse the crowds of men that pass through here. She has been here for four years, my Lord, but the duals have become more brutal. Her body is bruised; you should see the wounds I have to clean after the fights! I am certain Gallus beats her if she does not put on enough of a show for the men. She never speaks of what happens when she is summoned to his private chambers after the fights. It is not human for her to live like this!" She said, tears now forming in her eyes.

" These duals, how long do they last?" Gawain asked.

" They are to the death my Lord. For four years she has been killing others just like her, simply so that she can survive another day. When she first arrived, after the fights, she would scream and cry in her cell, asking her gods forgiveness for the kin she was forced to slay. Now, I hear nothing. I fear for her mind, my Lord, for it too has suffered much".

Arthur and the knights considered this, not believing, or rather not wanting to believe, that this was happening in the very fort they were to reside in for the night. For this woman to have survived this long, she must be either very lucky or very skilled in combat.

" Please, Lord Arthur, I beg of you, take her away from this torment! If you do not, she dies tonight. She is too weak to fight, and Gallus will summon her for a dual, in honor of your presence", Ashena said, making the last of her sentence resonate.

Lancelot was disgusted, as were the other knights.

" Arthur, we must take her with us. We cannot just leave her here", said Dagonet, who had not spoken since the beginning. Although big in stature, Dagonet possessed a deep sense of empathy for the pain of others.

" Yes, but how? Clearly, this Gallus values his property, if this woman is such a rare find." Said Gawain.

" Values her so much that he would see her killed in a dual of certain death," said Galahad, his jaw clenched.

Seeing their deliberation, Ashena cut in " My lords, please, you must find a way! She said desperately.

" Lady, go to your duties, see to this woman, we will think of something. Fear not, we will not leave her at the mercy of your master" Arthur said gently.

" God bless you my Lord!" she said, and hurriedly brushed past them.

Once she was gone, Tristan opened one of the doors and motioned for them to go inside, where they could speak in private.

" So Arthur, what are we going to do bout' this?" asked Bors.

" Well, we can't take her unnoticed, not tonight anyways. There are servants and soldiers crawling all over this fort. And I certainly don't want to stay here any longer than I have to" said Lancelot.

" Aye, it will have to be done tonight, that is certain and we can't wage war over this fort because of one girl. We're far too outnumbered. ", replied Arthur. He thought for a moment, and recalled what Gallus had said in the map room. " What if we played along with the Commander's game?" he mused.

" What do you mean, play along? Asked Bors, clearly not getting the message.

" You dolt, he means look like we are as barbaric and bloodthirsty as they are." Said Gawain.

" All right, let's say we go with this plan, how do we convince him to let us take his slave?" asked Lancelot.

" We fight her", replied Tristan, looking intently at Arthur, who was thinking along those same lines.

" Exactly. I tell Gallus that one of my knights would like to fight the girl, and instead of killing her, we simply disarm her. If my knight should win, he keeps her for the night." Arthur said looking at his men.

" Then we make for the gates with the girl and run for it" finished Galahad.

" So who will fight her then?" asked Lancelot.

" I will," said Tristan. Arthur looked at him and saw a determination there and he knew Tristan's mind was set, injury or no injury. The others saw it too and nodded their approval. Besides, Tristan was an imposing man. May who did not know him feared him back at the wall, especially when they saw him at the training grounds. His quiet, mysterious presence often unnerved people. Even when they had first become knights, they would keep their distance from him.

Tristan wanted to see this girl. Not just from a distance, he wanted to see and feel the movements of someone who had fought so long to survive, literally fought. He knew she would be tired and weak. That much he expected. But even having never seen the girl, he was curious to see whom this person was, who had killed for survival while others watched the bloodshed with delight.

" Right. Tristan, after you disarm her, you must make it look as if you cared nothing for what will happen to her. Then, when you take her to your room, wait for an hour or so. Lancelot will stand guard in the room across from yours. Bors, Dagonet and I will go saddle the horses. Gawain and Galahad, you go to the gate and assess guard duty. Hopefully, there will be few of them. You know what to do." Arthur said. Everyone understood and went to their rooms to change and wash a bit before they went down. It seemed only moment's ago they were arriving here, and already, they had discovered cruelty. How some things will never change…

AN: So there's another chapter. I feel a bit iffy about it, so please review and let me know what you think so far.

To clarify a few things:

For those of you who aren't familiar with Shakespeare's frequent use of the cuckold theme in his comedies, I will elaborate. A cuckold is a man whose wife (or lover, in Bors' case) has slept with another man. I now that the time period is quite off for Shakespeare related themes, but the subject of adultery has long been used as a way ridiculing other men. Most people thought it was funny (except of course, the cuckold himself).

Thanks dudes and dudettes, now just drag that mouse down to the go box below and all your dreams will come true. No, no, seriously, it's true!


	4. The last duel

Disclaimer: I own nothing except my original character.

A big thanks to all those who reviewed and again, I truly appreciate all your comments!

Ranya was standing near the door of her prison. Well trying to stand at least. She felt as if her knees would give out at any moment and was holding on to the metal bars. It was late and still there was no sign of Shena. This is what was making Ranya tremble now. Not the cold draft coming from down the hall, nor the glacial drops of water that were falling onto her shoulder from the crack in the ceiling above her. It was the waiting, the interminable waiting to see if this Arthur would help her, if Shena had even gotten a chance to speak with him at all. The odds were certainly not in her favor. Then again, the odds hadn't been in her favor for a long time now.

She was sore and she was tired. She had tried to rest during the day, and almost succeeded once, but the young boys from the new cavalry had come to pay her visit, all wanting to see what a woman from the desert looked like. They leered and stared lecherously at her broken form, rattling the bars with their scabbards and her mind with predictions of her death tonight. Suffice to say, she would not be getting any rest until she left this place or died.

Ranya looked down at her hands, clamped around the steel of her cage. Her knuckles were swollen and it was difficult to move her fingers. Her shoulder pained her immensely and she had a feeling it was sorely out of place. Her feet were blistered from always being barefoot, even during the duels. Her feet hadn't felt warm for ages and she would sometimes dream of burying them in the sand, as she used to do with Wajjdi, at the Mawâli oasis. Gods she missed him. He was a close friend of her family's and a master horseman. Wajjdi Malek was a few years older than Ranya, and he was the one who had given her Akil, her beautiful black Arabian horse on her twelfth birthday. He had shown her how to tame him and how to ride him. She wondered if Wajjdi, or Akil for that matter, were still alive. Wajjdi was a Druze horse rider, which meant he rode through the desert with the Druze army, trying to keep the invading Romans away from the desert villages. It was during one of the Roman raids that Ranya had lost her parents and sister, at the age of seven. They were killed in an ambush while Ranya was away at the well. She had heard the screams of terror floating over the village, and by the time she and Akil had returned, the sand had swallowed the blood of her entire family. She still closed her eyes at the memory of that sight. She had seen much death and destruction since then, but the impact of such a vision on a young girl of seven years still could not be shaken from her memory.

Her uncle had taken her in after that. From then on she had lived with him and her four cousins, all of whom were boys. She would do everything with them and being younger than all of them, was constantly trying to prove herself to them. When they traveled throughout the desert with the caravans, she would follow the boys to the shops of the local tradesmen and craftsmen. In nomadic society, the women usually learned to improve their skills in such things related to homemaking. The men would go and discover new ways of making weapons and tools. Ranya had always been blessed with a deep curiosity for new things. She would always be trying to discover the workings of certain instruments and how they were made. Her mind was insatiably attracted to new ways of thinking and doing. Her uncle always said that if there was one person who was fit to be a Bedouin nomad, it was she.

When she had been taken, her uncle could not be found and her cousins had been captured, along with the rest of the young boys and men of their group. The women and children had all been murdered, down to the very last newborn. She vividly remembered the screams of one young woman who was being raped in her tent by a roman soldier, while her father was restrained just outside. When the men finally contained Ranya, her two oldest cousins were trying frantically to reach her. They too could hear the screams of the woman, and were horrified that such a fate could be bestowed upon their beloved cousin. They never got to her. She had been chained and dragged through the sand, away from everything that was hers.

If her existence were to end tonight, at least she knew that there was chance she would see her family again.

The sound of hurried footsteps brought her back to the present.

" Ranya, I don't have much time, the guards are coming to take you up." Upon seeing Ashena, Ranya was not sure whether she should rejoice or fall to the ground sobbing. What did she mean, the guards were coming to take her up? Was she to be freed or killed?

" What is going on Shena? Did you speak with Arthur?" Ranya said, grabbing onto the bars fiercely.

" Yes, and he said he would help you. But, Ranya, I have not received any word from him since then" said Shena, who in her mind, was becoming more and more agitated. Had she been wrong about the knights? Had they forgotten about her friend's plight? Her frown was not cause for reassurance.

" What do you mean? Did t-they not tell you what they would do?" asked Ranya, who was failing miserably at staying calm. She was panicking now.

" Oh God! Ranya I am so sorry! I asked him, I really did! I have tried seeking the knights out again but the guest quarters have been sealed off! Oh please forgive me!" Shena sobbed.

Ranya let her arms fall back down to her sides, ignoring the pain that had erupted because of the movement. Her last hope had vanished. Tears flooded her big, dark eyes as she stared at the wall behind Shena.

" Shena, unlock the door. If this should be my last night alive, I shall leave this life honorably by fighting for it." Ranya said, looking intently at Shena through her drying tears.

Ashena knew Ranya meant to flee, and this caused her to sob even more.

" I c-can't. They would not give me the key".

Ranya never really heard the footsteps of the guards and the two servant girls who had descended to the dungeons. She could barely make out the distraught cries of Ashena who was being detained by force behind them as they made their way down the corridor. Nor could she feel the cold iron chains being clamped around her bruised wrists. Everything seemed a blur, a constant swirl of images and sounds being shoved into the melting pot that was her head. She was not even aware of the fissuring skin under her feet as she dragged them over dirt and stone.

She suddenly found herself in small, darkened room that looked all too familiar. She looked to her left and sure enough, there it was. That curtain. The conduit to her death.

The feel of her tattered peasant's dress falling off of her shoulders forced her to take notice of the two woman who were bustling around her, gathering the cloths of shimmering silk and soft velvet in their hands. She was being adorned. And for what? She would only soil the beautiful fabrics once she went out there. While one woman applied the roman markings on Ranya's arm, the other stood in front of her and was pushing her long, wavy hair out of her eyes and trying to tame it. Ranya could see that the women avoided looking in her eyes. As the woman in front of her finished brushing her hair, Ranya felt the lingering stare on her right temple. This happened often, for no one could understand the tattoo that was there. It was a small curved symbol, three Arabic letters really. It said Maysa', which was the name of her mother's ancestors. Traditionally, young girls of her tribe are marked on the right temple with the name of the women of the family. Women were held in high regard for their role of life givers, and it was a woman's duty to remember the women who had lived before her. Maysa' actually meant Pride, which suited the women of Ranya's family very well. The temperament of the Maysa' women was not something to be trifled with, as many unfortunate men had discovered over the years.

Ranya knew the adornment ritual was coming to an end, for the woman was now applying the coal around her eyes. Gallus had always been very specific in how he wanted her to look.

Ranya could hear the growing voices of the boisterous men outside. Her heart was pounding so hard she thought it would soon outdo the thunderous crowd awaiting her with great anticipation. Someone had tied a bandage tightly around her thigh, to help prevent her wound from being too exposed. The servants were now quiet around her, as there was nothing to do now but wait for the inevitable beat of the drum. Ranay swallowed and looked around one last time. The servants in the room all had their heads bowed, and some were holding their hands clasped together upon their breast. They were praying to their god for her. She closed her eyes and tried to fight the terror creeping up her spine.

A beat of the drum, and then it could be heard.

"Send in the girl!"

She slowly made her way to the archway, where the curtains were being drawn back. Her steps were painful, her feet feeling as if they were being charred by black fire. She was having trouble breathing now, and was clutching her thigh as she stepped through the archway. As her ears were assailed with loud cheers and the banging of fists on tables, her eyes were trying to adjust to the brightness of the hall. Being locked away in that dungeon for long periods of time often made her forget that the world was not meant to be so dark. Gallus was standing, with a sickly grin splitting his face, as Ranya looked around the room. That was when she spotted them. To the left of the steps Gallus was standing on, was a group of men sitting at the front of the crowd. She scanned the faces and knew that these were the Sarmatian knights. Their dress was different from that of the Romans at the fort, except for one. 'This one must be Arthur Castus', she thought. He, along with his men, had trained his eyes on her.

She assessed them quickly. A large balding man was seated next to a tall one with a scar lining his face. They looked quite brutal, in fact. To the right of Arthur, a man with dark curls and a stern face was seated. To Arthur's left was dark haired man who possessed much younger features than his comrades. Seated next to him was a disheveled man with light hair and a face that Ranya could tell was suited for joviality. Standing behind the latter was a rugged looking man, who was leaning against a pillar, his arms crossed in front of him. His hair was of the darkest browns and fell into his face. Ranya looked at him for a long time. For some reason, the way his eyes were nearly completely camouflaged by his hair lingered in her mind. She wondered what could be held within those eyes that needed to be contained behind such a barricade. His frame exuded force, a roughness that was feral and wild.

Ranya looked away from the mysterious knight as she walked to the center of the hall, at the last of the four steps leading to Gallus' seat.

"Kneel woman" ordered the cold voice of Gallus.

Ranya did not budge. Usually, she was required to kneel before him as he humiliated her a bit in front of the men. But tonight, she would not kneel. She knew it was stupid and reckless, but she would not let him dishonor her death. He had already dishonored her too much. She would not give him the pleasure of submission tonight.

" I said kneel!" he screamed into the echoing silence that ensued after her initial refusal.

Still, she did not move. She simply stared straight ahead.

" Guard, help the girl to her knees. It seems our savage has forgotten how," said Gallus with a satisfied smile.

The guard to her left walked up to her with a spear in hand and his her hard on the back of her knees. She instantly fell to the ground, a small whimper escaping her lips. Her knees received a hard blow from her fall. The men cheered. Gallus walked down to her, taking the limp chain that was attached to her bound wrists in front of her and that she had dragged into the hall.

" Gentlemen, tonight you are blessed with a, shall I say, cultural display of battle" as he said this, Gallus jerked on the chain, pulling her to him. He took her chin in his hands, turning her face to the crowd. The men laughed at his description of what was to come.

" Tonight, our little desert flower will put on a show not only for you brave soldiers, but also for the mighty Commander, Arthur Castus, and his faithful knights!" The men turned to where the knights were sitting, cheering for them.

" So Arthur, what do you think of my wild woman? Not bad, eh? Of course, she used to be much more enticing, but that was before her winning streak had begun." Gallus said, looking to Arthur.

Arthur was trying to hide his disgust all the while looking as if he truly thought along the same lines as Gallus. He smiled and nodded. The girl was a mess. Skin and bones, with injuries apparent all over her body. The small velvet cloth she was wearing around her hips revealed a bandaged thigh, and he could see bloodstains on the floor from where her feet had been.

Lancelot clenched his jaw at the sight of the tortured woman. What right did the man have?

Tristan had kept his eyes trained on the girl since her emergence from the archway. He had see her limping and he knew that she would not survive another day if they had not been there. He could tell why Gallus saw her as such a beguiling creature. Her exotic beauty was apparent, even through the bruised muscle and bleeding skin. Her features were distinct and he had certainly never seen a woman with a face like that in his life. Her eyes, he noticed right away. Untamed and intense, even faced with a situation such as this, he could tell many men had felt ensnared by those big, dark eyes. She was small, at least a head smaller than he. But even as she was being practically dragged around by Gallus while he ranted, Tristan could tell she was quick. He had heard tales of the endurance of the desert people, for sometimes they had to go a few days without rest or water and had trained themselves to survive.

" Well, I believe we have had enough of waiting, haven't we boys?" A roar of agreement answered Gallus. " Bring out the slave!" he yelled, as he threw Ranya down to the ground near the steps. Gallus stepped around her and walked up to his seat as a man was brought into the room. From the moment Ranya lifted her head and spotted him, she did not even try to stop the anguish from forming on her face. He was enormous. Her heart fell to her stomach. One swiped of his sword and she was dead. There was no escaping this.

" A worthy opponent, don't you think Lord Arthur?" said Gallus with an evil grin. He knew full well she would not last an instant against this brute of a man.

" Yes, yes, I agree. Although, I would ask, if you permit it Commander, that you allow me to make things bit more interesting for you and your men" said Arthur, closing himself off from all moral sense and putting on a mask of wickedness.

At this, a barely audible gasp could be heard from the opposite corner of the room. Ashena had snuck into the hall after the guards had let her go and she was now standing in the back with a few other servants. She could not believe what she had just heard. Was Arthur Castus truly encouraging this sort of behavior? It could not be possible!

Ranya also looked up to Arthur in alarm. She was standing now, blood staining the bandage on her thigh. 'Ashena said he was a good man' she thought, confused. She could understand how he had decided against taking her away from this place. She would be a burden to him and his men and would probably slow them down, making them more vulnerable on their travel back. But this?

"Really? Well, please, do share what you have in mind Commander!" said Gallus, clearly thrilled to have Arthur Castus participating in his favorite spectacle.

" Send your slave away, and give one of my knights the pleasure of fighting this wild creature", this was followed by the encouraging hollers of the soldiers. Arthur put his hand up to quiet them. " And if he wins, the girl warms his bed for the night" he finished.

A pandemonium of cheers erupted, resonating off the stone walls of the hall and hitting Ranya square in the face. 'No. No, it can't be. They cannot do this!' she thought, her mind in a whirlwind of hopelessness and panic. 'Shena said he was a good man, a just man!' For some reason she felt betrayed. Whether it was because of Shena's misjudgment or because her rightful death, her only remaining escape, had been replaced with the surrender of her body to a strange man, she did not know. 'This must be hell' she thought. Surely, it must be.

Ashena was in shock. Who was this man? Where was the man who said that Ranya would not be left at the mercy of Gallus? She was shaking her head, not believing what was happening. 'But it is happening! And it's all your fault! You went to Arthur, and now look what has befallen on your friend!' her conscience screamed into her head.

Gallus raised his arms to silence the crowd. He contemplated what Arhtur had just proposed. The men would enjoy seeing the bitch try and fend off one of Rome's most skilled warriors. It would be a shame to let such an opportunity pass. As for the spoils of the victor, well, Gallus hadn't touched the girl in months. He had enjoyed her at first, but then she had started loosing her curves and lost her appeal. Besides, he had gotten tired of having to restrain her when he took her. Taking pleasure from a woman was never as enjoyable when she was trying to claw your eyes out.

" A grand offer, Lord Arthur. And I will take you up on it!" he said. The crowd bellowed and pounded their fists on the tables. Ashena refrained from crying out.

The knights all had passive looks on their faces. They all felt repugnance at the situation, but they could not allow their emotions to betray the plan. If they were going to save this girl, they had to look like they wanted her to suffer.

Ranya was slowly dying inside. Her breathing was ragged and she was furiously blinking away tears.

" So, which of your knights will have the honor, Arthur. And I assure you from personal experience, it is an honor, for not many men have the chance to feast their eyes upon the flesh of a desert woman!" Gallus exclaimed. Loud laughter erupted around the hall.

Arthur felt his blood boil and the roman commander's words. So the man had taken her against her will. The bastard didn't deserve that cape he had around his shoulders. A disgrace to Rome!

" My scout, Tristan, will take the… _challenge_" he replied. He had tried to stress that last word in a sarcastic tone, and knew he had accomplished when the crowd erupted into laughter.

" Ah yes, we have heard of his skill. A silent killer, some say!" said Gallus.

" Only when I want to be Commander," said Tristan as he approached the center of the hall.

Tristan had watched the girls every move and reaction since Arthur suggested he fight her. He had seen the look in her eyes when he had announced the prize of this battle. She had been through that already. Now she looked like a cornered animal, her eyes darting from one side of the hall to another. He positioned himself a few yards in front of her and stood waiting. She looked up and Tristan saw there hatred so pure and a fear so overpowering that he dared not look away. For some reason, he felt this was her due. Even though _he_ knew she would not die and would not be forced to satisfy his desires tonight, _she_ did not.

" Bring her weapons!" exclaimed Gallus, seating himself to watch the scene unfold.

A man stepped forward carrying two long curved knives. He waited as another guard unlocked her chains and then put weapons into her hands.

Ranya felt the familiar handles in her hands, grasping them as tightly as she could with her swollen joints, never taking her eyes off the knight in front of her. She would fight to the death tonight. She would try; with all the strength she possessed, to kill this man. Her sense of reason told her it was an unlikely outcome and she agreed. But by the Gods, she would spill her own blood before she let another man take her against her will. That she would not endure. That sense of invasion, when a man used such an act as a weapon on a woman's soul. No, it would not happen tonight.

Tristan reached back and unsheathed his sword. He of course, would be expected to attack first, and he did. She blocked with her knives crossed in front of her, stepping back with the force of the blow. He attacked to the right. She blocked again, albeit clumsily. He circled her, as his hawk often circled her prey. She simply turned to follow him, not leaving her back to him. He could see she was trying not to exhaust what was left of her energy. A good move.

He attacked again, only this time with more force. She blocked over her head and to the side. Once her knives were in the air, busy fending off the offensive blade, he kicked her in the stomach, sending her to the ground. He pushed back the thoughts of guilt that were slowly creeping up on him. She did not deserve this, but if she was to live, it had to look believable. The men in the hall cheered with glee at the sight of such blatant weakness on her part.

Ranya was not able to hold back the cry that came from her mouth as her shoulder connected with the hard stone. She saw him advancing and she rolled quickly to her left, repositioning herself on her feet in a crouching position. Her bandage was soaked with blood now. She could feel it dripping down the length of her leg. She had no choice. She would have to attack. She twisted her knives in her hand, looking for some sign of weakness from this man. And then she saw it. On his arm, there was bandage. A fairly recent looking bandage. If the man was injured, she could use that to her advantage.

Trisan saw the girl come to a decision and counter-attacked her beat (AN: fencing term meaning an opponent trying to knock the other's sword out of their hand). He stepped away and waited for her to attack again. When she did, he noticed it was the same movement she had used before. After a third time, he realized she was attacking the same arm over and over again; his injured arm. 'Clever girl'. He had no difficulty parrying her attacks, but he had to admit it was rather uncomfortable.

Ranya knew her plan had failed when the knight used the same movement she had been using on him. She was so tired; she could barely lift her arms to stop his blade. The clang of metal on metal was resonating in her hands as the crowd's cheers reverberated off of the walls. Suddenly, she was left with one knife. The knight had knocked the right one out of her hand and she looked hopelessly at the blade on the floor. In an instant, the other blade fell to join its brother. She fell to her knees, the cursed knight's sword at her throat.

Tristan had noticed her movements had become slow, unsteady and deliberate. She'd become a danger to herself if he didn't put an end to this soon. He had easily knocked both swords out of her hands and the look in her eyes told him she had given up.

The hall was abundant with cheers from the men.

" Well, sir Knight, you have claimed your prize! She is yours for the night! Gaius, take her to his chambers" said Gallus. A guard stepped forward and grabbed Ranya by the arm roughly.

Tristan's gaze followed the girl's struggling form as she was pulled out of the hall.

" Congratulations my friend! Maybe once you are through with her, you will feel generous enough to share her with your fellow knights. Send for one of the guards when you want her gone" said Gallus, getting up to leave.

"Arthur, I will see you tomorrow!" he said, walking out of the hall. The crowd began dissipating, all the soldiers returning to their beds for the evening.

Tristan looked to the knights before leaving to go to his room, and saw they all knew what was ahead. The first part of the plan had been set in motion, now it was time for a quick escape from this fort.

Alright, there it is. Hope you guys will enjoy it!

Please review! Need feedback!


	5. Escape

Disclaimer: I don't own anything except my original character.

A big thanks to my reviewers! You guys rock!

To **Eiggem**: thank you for the review. Actually, I don't fence at all. It's just that I find research is essential to writing. But I thank you for the remark, I guess I did something right!

To **June Birdie**: thanks for the review and the suggestion as well. There will be more action in later chapters, but I'm grateful for your concern! If I am ever found lacking in the action department later on, please let me know! I really value constructive criticism.

On with the story

Having been dragged through the many corridors of the fort, and dumped rather unceremoniously on what she presumed was the damnable dark knight's bed, Ranya came to the conclusion that it really couldn't get any worse. She took a look at her left elbow, which was now covered in blood and shred skin. 'Filthy piece of swine! Did he really have to throw me against that wall!' she thought bitterly, in reminiscence of the very hospitable guard that had escorted her.

She looked around the room and found that there was no indication that anyone stayed here at all. In the corner there was a small leather sack and apart from that, nothing. 'He is a knight so he must have weapons here somewhere' she thought. If she could get her hands on a blade, a dagger, anything, then she could wait until he opened the door and run him through. The element of surprise was too often under appreciated.

She slowly made her way to the corner where the leather sack was propped up against the wall. After a lovely string of curses in her native tongue, prompted by the searing pain shooting up and down her leg thanks to her wound, Ranya was finally able to reach the bag and rummage through it. Extra tunics, a few bandages, bow string and a small vial that contained a green oily substance wrapped in deerskin, but not one bloody weapon!

' What kind of knight is he!' she thought in frustration.

She staggered back to the bed and found the sheets were stained crimson. Well, there was naught to do about it now.

She had to find a way out of this room. There was no way she would let him do with her what she knew he was coming here to do. She hobbled over to the door and slowly brought herself to her knees in front of the handle. She had heard the guard lock the door from the outside, but Ranya, being the voracious creature of curiosity that she was, was quite adept at discovering how things worked. The only lacking element to her situation was time. So after listening intently through the door for any telltale sounds, she immediately began inspecting the bane of her captivity. By looking into the crack of the door, she could tell the bolt was made of iron by the way the light reflected off of its surface. That would mean that the pin tumblers would be made of iron as well. Now, she would have to find something to slide through the crack and rattle the crosspiece so that the tumblers would move. But, were the pegs made of wood or-

Ranya was never able to finish her assessment because the subject of her current examination had just hit her squarely in the face.

Looking up from her sprawled position on the floor, she found a pair of inquiring eyes looking down at her through a curtain of dark hair. Her own eyes grew wide, whether in fear or intimidation; she did not stop to ponder. Instead, she sat up brusquely and retreated towards the other side of the room, her hands and legs moving as fast as they could. Unfortunately, her back collided with a blockade she assumed was the bed, and thus halted her progress.

Tristan stood in the doorway of his room, his hand on the door latch, and looked from the girl on the floor to the back of the door he presumed she had been inspecting a moment earlier. His expression never changed, presenting a passive front to the woman staring at him warily. He slowly closed the door and moved to where she was, pressed against the end of the bed. He could see she was breathing haphazardly, her breasts rising and falling with the motion of her intake of breath. He also noted that her right leg was tarnished with blood and remembered her injuries. 'She shouldn't be on the floor with a wound like that', he thought. With thoughts of helping her off of the cold floor, he extended his hand towards her, which, to his mild annoyance, she promptly spat on. Lazily wiping his hand on his tunic and letting out a sigh that clearly demonstrated said annoyance, Tristan stared back at the girl who, in turn, was staring back at him with a glare that oozed defiance. 'Girl's got pluck' he thought.

Without a word, he swiftly picked her up off the floor and sat her down on the bed, ignoring her pounding fists and thrashing limbs.

Being the ever-perceptive scout that he was, Tristan noticed a large gash on her left elbow that hadn't been there in the great hall. 'What happened here I wonder?' he mused, as he reached to take her arm, intent on getting a closer look. A sudden movement near his crotch alerted him of the foot that was fast approaching a demonstrably sensitive target, which he protected from brutal assault by firmly grasping the little fiend's ankle.

" Woman, if you would cease your futile attempts at trying to dismember me, you would observe that I mean you no harm" he ground out roughly. Thrashing and hostile behavior was one thing, but there was no possible justification of violence when it came to a man's genitals.

Ranya stopped struggling against the man who was holding her arms at her sides, being taken aback by his words. 'Mean no harm?' she thought. Did he think she would actually enjoy being forced into this? This man was insane! A mad, weaponless knight with twisted perversions!

Once he saw she was relatively stilled, Tristan slowly let go of her arms. It was then that he noticed the tattoo on her temple. Not one to be adverse to such things, seeing as how he himself had some, he wondered what they meant to her, to her people.

Taking a step back from her, to demonstrate his harmlessness (well…almost, he was not harmless in nature to begin with), Tristan was again struck by the image of her. Bruised, bloody and clearly exhausted, it seemed that her entire life was held within her eyes. They were so vivid, so clear but yet they had no distinctive color. Just a deep, never ending darkness. Her figure was slight and toned, due respectively to her malnutrition and fighting. He guessed that once she had proper food in her, she would regain a good, womanly form. Her skin was dark; a deep bronze that he supposed was akin to all desert people.

As she saw him take a step back from her, Ranya was trying to understand what it was that he wanted from her exactly.

" Now, listen to me. I am not going to hurt you. The others are getting everything ready, and once they have, we are leaving this fort. You will come with us," Tristan said calmly.

Ranya was shocked. What was happening?

"W-what?" she managed to choke out.

" We are leaving tonight. Arthur and the others are getting the horses ready. He gave your friend his word that he would take you away from this place, and he upholds his promise" he said, turning back to retrieve his sack. Lancelot would come get them soon and then it would have to be a quick and silent exit.

" But…I don't…the duel?" she said, her mind trying to absorb this new turn of events. So she was not going to be violated, or beaten, or killed. She would be free.

" The duel was a hoax. It was the only way we could keep you out of the dungeons without your master suspecting anything" he said, rifling through his bag. He had noticed the flap was turned down when he went to retrieve it. Apparently the girl had kept busy.

"So, I'm…I'm free?" Ranya asked, her eyes wide and almost non-believing.

Sensing the slight quiver in her voice, Tristan looked up from his sack.

" Aye, you are free". 'And have been since your birth' he thought, remembering his own enslavement to Rome. Repressing his last thoughts, Tristan bent down to retrieve something under the bed. As he surfaced, objects in hand, Ranya stared in disbelief.

' Foolish woman! Under the bed!' she thought, mentally hitting herself on the head with a mallet. Of course he would hide his weapons under the bed. Well, her oversight did not really matter now did it? She would be leaving this rotten piece of hell some might call a castle.

Upon seeing her expression as he laid down his weapons on the bed, Tristan hid his amusement. Ah, so she had been looking for a weapon. He had thought as much when he noticed his ruffled sack. He carefully placed each of his daggers back into the folds of his armor and sheathed his dirk into his belt. His sword he kept with him at all times.

Ranya meanwhile, was recovering from the shock and the departure of her astonishment slowly gave way to another awareness: pain. She looked down to her thigh and gasped. There was blood everywhere, and still more was coming. She was acutely aware of every abnormality in her body and it was rather disconcerting. She took a deep breath and lowered her hand to the bed, looking for support.

Tristan looked at the girl and noticed she was struggling for consciousness. He took out one of his daggers and began ripping the sheets on the bed. He carefully wrapped an improvised bandage around her elbow and secured it tightly with a knot. He then proceeded to do the same thing to her feet

He then focused his attention to her bloodied thigh. That old bandage would have to come off, so he used his dagger to cut the tattered cloth on the side. Once that was done, he gently urged her to lie down, making it easier for him to bend her knee and consequently apply a new wrap.

Ranya, under any other circumstances, would have preferred to do this herself. Considering her state of dress or rather undress, she knew the situation presented a rather questionable position on her part. But frankly, at the moment, she did not give a damn. Far be it for her to start objecting the virtuous intentions of the knight when her entire body was literally aching. She was however; severely attentive to the heat that warmed her skin wherever he touched her. 'How can he be so warm when everything else in this country is so bloody frigid?' she wondered, trying to focus her eyes on his form, because as of now things were beginning to get blurry.

"Hey, look at me. You have to stay awake" she heard the man say.

To his credit, Tristan was able to finish his task without looking at the rest of the nearly naked body beneath him, instead focusing solely on that part of her which was injured. The material that clung to her body covered what needed to be covered, leaving her stomach and legs bare. She'd freeze dressed like that, noticing the gooseflesh on her arms and the slight clatter of her teeth.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.

"Tris, we're ready to go". Upon hearing Lancelot's muffled voice through the door, Tristan gathered another sheet from the bed and wrapped it around the shivering girl. He then went to open the door and handed his leather sack to Lancelot.

" How's the girl?" Lancelot asked, peering in to see Ranya lying down on the bed, with a sheep wrapped around her, and frankly, looking dreadful.

" She's lost a lot of blood. Storm still raging?" he asked, all the while helping her sit up.

" Not as heavy, but it's still a cause for concern. We should be able to-

" YOU BASTARDS!" a shrill voice rang out in the corridor, making Lancelot turn around sharply from his position in the doorway.

In the distant recesses of her nearly comatose mind, Ranya recognized the piercing voice to be Ashena's.

" How could you do such a thing, you filthy, pestilent tyrants! You will burn in hell for-

Ashena's heated rant was abruptly halted when Lancelot firmly placed his hand on her mouth and dragged her kicking form into the room.

" Are you trying to get us killed, woman!" Lancelot said harshly.

"It's all right Shena. Arthur is taking me out of here" said Ranya calmly, not because she was calm at that moment, but rather because her state would not allow for any agitation.

Lancelot removed his hand from Ashena's mouth and gave her a warning stare.

" But…what about-

" I know, I thought the same. But it was all a scheme so Gallus wouldn't find out" answered Ranya in response to Shena's unfinished question. She managed a smile towards her friend, trying to convey her relief.

Ashena was silent for a moment staring from Ranya, to Tristan and Lancelot, and back to Ranya. Finally, holding back tears, Ashena sprung into action.

" Which way are you taking?" she asked, all the while taking off her long servant's cloak.

" There is a staircase at the east end of the guests quarters which leads to the Chapel corridor. We will go that way and then head for the stables", said Lancelot.

Ranya shook her head.

" Nay, the clerics hold vigil in the chapel every night, someone will see you. You must take the servants passage, near the window at the end of the hall. Once you reach the bottom of the stairs, you will find yourself in the kitchens. Take the passage to your left, you will eventually find where the hay is stored. The stables are not far from there." Said Shena, putting her cloak around Ranya. She then took off her boots that were lined with sheep's wool and put them on Ranay's feet.

" I know how much you hate the cold," she said, giving her friend a smirk.

Ranya smiled weakly at that.

" Thank you Shena, for everything"

" Go, live your life. Live it for your people." Shena said, clasping Ranya's hands in farewell.

" Tristan, we must go," said Lancelot. Tristan looked at the girl, Ranya as her friend had called her. She wouldn't be staying awake long. He lifted her into his arms, letting her head rest on his shoulder. He did not fail to notice her slight intake of breath as he lifted her. Dagonet would have to thoroughly check her wounds once they were far enough from the fort.

Following Lancelot out the door, he saw her glance back over his shoulder at the other woman standing near the door of the room, her hands clutching the fabric of his well worn tunic. As they rounded the corner, he felt her go limp and knew she had given in to the pain and exhaustion.

As they entered the stables, they could see Dagonet and Bors bringing out the last of the horses. No one was there, for such was the advantage of stealing away in the dead of night. But their luck would not last long.

Upon seeing Lancelot and Tristan's arrival, along with the now unconscious slave girl, Arthur, Bors and Dagonet made haste in getting ready to leave. Dagonet took the girl from Tristan while he mounted Hétouyn, and then placed her in front of him on the horse. They silently and quickly exited the stables, with Bors and Dagonet leading the horses of Gawain and Galahad. They stayed close to the wall as they made their way to the main gates.

Gawain and Galahad had been fortunate enough to come upon only three posted guards on top of the wall. They silently knocked each on the back of the head with their sword hilts and had waited for the other knights to appear.

Gawain opened the gate and each horse was led through one by one, Gawain's being the last.

As his horse sped along the snow-covered path, Tristan wondered what would become of the girl he was currently holding tightly against his chest. Perhaps this was because of his own indecision in regards to what he would do once he was freed, if he lived that long. His family was dead now, he knew that much. ' Six months of this, and then it will be over' he thought. A painful moan brought his attention back to the woman in front of him. He tightened the cloak around her, knowing full well she was not used to such harsh weather.

Please be upstanding readers and review! Greatly appreciated!


	6. La Fuite

Disclaimer: I don't own anything except my original character.

Very sorry for the delay in updating, but good news: my finals are over!

To **Eiggem:** You bring up a good point, and in any other situation, Tristan would not have said so much. Only here, in light of what Ranya has been through and what she believed Tristan was going to do with her, I felt that he needed to give her a more worded explanation, so as not to scare her. Good observation, and thanks for the review!

To **ElvenStar5**: Thank you very much! I'm glad you like it!

Thanks to all who reviewed!

Chapter 6: _La Fuite_

The night was slowly dieing, the early light of the new day taking over the moon's dark reign. The knights were riding hard; their pace still steady, consistent with the one they had set upon their sudden departure. As each horse sped onward, the men could barely discern their surroundings, the white speckled foliage a passing blur. They had been riding relentlessly through the night, and Arthur knew they would have to stop soon, for the horses and the girl's sake. Slowing his horse to a stop, he motioned for the others to do the same.

"Tristan, let Dagonet take the girl. See if you can find a clearing, near enough to the edge of the forest. We'll rest there," Arthur said.

Tristan nodded, handing the young woman into Dagonet's arms. She was so light; he had trouble believing she had survived so long on such a poor diet.

Mindful of her injuries, Dagonet carefully held her unconscious form on his saddle. As Tristan rode off into the thickness of the forest, he pulled the cloak from her leg. The bleeding had stopped, but the scab did not look good. He had feared as much.

" How is she?" asked Gawain.

" I don't know. I'll have to take a closer look at her once we camp, but I don't like the look of this wound" he said grimly, pulling the cloak back over her leg.

" Arthur, we cannot stop long. It is nearly dawn, and Gallus will no doubt discover our disappearance come morning." Lancelot said, looking to the horizon, where a deep amber glow could be seen climbing towards the sky.

" I know Lancelot. We will stay here until midmorning. Then we will head for the eastern Rheged route" Arthur said, awaiting the protests at his choice of course.

" East Rheged! Arthur, you know the danger's that path holds," exclaimed Bors.

" If we ride till sundown and through the night, the rebels will not be able to cut us off. It is the shortest route, and time is not a luxury we have", Arthur reasoned.

The knights consented at this. Indeed, they had to be at the fort within the next few days so a safe distance could be put between themselves and Gallus' fort. A whistle could be heard through the many limbs of the forest trees. Upon hearing Tristan's signal, the knights entered the forest. Tristan met them and led them to a small clearing, chaperoned by a shallow cave.

" Lancelot, bring your furs for the girl. She is shivering," said Dagonet as he laid her down on his bedroll. And indeed she was, having been suddenly devoid of the warmth Dagonet provided her while he held her.

" She ain't used to this weather is she?" asked Bors, unpacking some food while the others busied themselves as well.

" No, the servant girl said she had been taken from her people. I have never seen skin so darkened by the sun", said Gawain. Dagonet was carefully unwrapping the makeshift bandage Tristan had made her for her elbow.

" Well, you would if the clouds would part for more than just two months on this bloody island", said Lancelot. This girl and her people obviously thrived in the sun, he thought.

Arthur crouched down next to Dagonet, who was cleaning the blood from her elbow and preparing to wrap it anew. The Roman commander studied the young woman's face. It was then he saw the marking on her temple. Arthur was a learned man; something his roman heritage had brought him. He knew of the desert tribes, for he had heard many legends of how they protected their lands, especially the Druze. He did not know their language however, so he could not decipher the meaning of the black marking. It did not matter in any case, he had never asked his scout about his tattoos. Every culture had their ways.

" Will she be well enough to travel?" he asked Dagonet. Dagonet had finished with her arm and was now applying some water to the wound on her thigh.

" The cut is not too deep, but that is of no concern. The scab is not healing properly and it has been infected. Arthur, she is falling into a fever. It has begun and it will worsen" the healer said grimly.

" What are the chances for her survival?" asked Arthur. He knew full well what a fever could bring about. Many of his knights knew as well.

" If the fever breaks, she will live. Otherwise, I don't see how she could heal with the state her body is in" he responded.

Arthur nodded and was about to ask something else when a rasping cough came from the patient's mouth. She settled and her dark eyes opened. As she tried to focus on where she was, she felt water being brought to her lips. She was freezing and yet she felt as if parts of her were on fire.

" Lady, can you hear me?" a voice asked. She closed her eyes and opened them again. She could see two faces looking at her intently.

" Can you hear me?" the man asked again. This time she recognized him. This was the Arthur Ashena had spoken of.

She did not speak her answer, only looking at him to let him know she was awake and listening.

Arthur had seen many things in his life. Some horrible, some beautiful. But never had he seen eyes like that. There was nothing particularly astounding about their color, the blackest of browns, which at the moment were framed by smudged kohl. It was their character, their presence. This woman felt things through her eyes, and at the moment Arthur saw that.

" We will not harm you, Lady. You are safe now", he said in what he hoped was a reassuring voice.

Ranya tried her best to stay calm, even though she was shivering, to show that she knew this.

" Can you tell us you name?" Arthur asked.

" Ranya" she managed to croak out.

" Well Lady Ranya, we are taking you back to Hadrian's wall. You will be well cared for there," he said.

" Bors, give me your wine flagon!" she heard the man with the scarred face say.

" Lady, I need to cleanse the wound to stop the infection. This may sting quite a bit," said Dagonet. Even though she had steeled herself for the pain, she still could not stop the small cry that escaped her mouth as he poured the red liquid on her open wound.

At the sound of her cry, the knights stopped and looked at the young woman. It was a dour sight to behold.

Tristan, who had settled himself on the outskirts of the camp with some of the maps he had gruffly made for himself, turned to the woman. He had heard Dagonet say she was passing into a fever. For him, this thought brought back dark memories.

Four years into his service to Rome, Tristan had been taken captive by a group of Roman traitors, aptly named Persecore: The Hunted. These rogues, having heard of Arthur Castus and his seemingly undefeatable knights, felt threatened in their plans to establish their new lands in North Eastern Britain, because they were very close to the wall. Somehow, a mole had managed to infiltrate the fort and information about the knight's various missions had been relayed to the Persecore. That is how they were able to anticipate the knight's passage through the southern Rheged valley. However, they did not expect the lone knight that had ridden across the rocky hills on the outskirts of the valley. Tristan had told Arthur it would be cautious to stay behind at the small camp while he went ahead. He would send his hawk as signal for safe passage. Tristan remembered that night with bitter regret. Had he been more alert, none of the ensuing torment would have happened.

He had been ambushed by a band of men that had emerged from beneath the rocks of the cliff. The minute he had pulled his sword from it's sheath, he knew there was no chance he would win this fight. He fought, Gods how he fought. He did not know their purpose, their intentions for attacking him, he only knew of the blood he wanted spill on the rocks.

To this day, there are moments during that horrible night that completely elude his mind. What he did remember, he wished he could erase forever. These Roman's, they had known what could bring a man to his knees, what could shatter his soul and break his mind and body. Tristan had endured this, all of it and all these years later, he could still smell the burning flesh and feel the pain of the blade in his dreams. In his dreams, he could still hear the onslaught of harsh voices upon his ears, demanding the location of the Sarmatian knights and where they would be going next. He never answered, his mind simply forbidding such betrayal.

The knights found him, five days later, chained to an abandoned well. By then, his wounds had turned black, because of cold and infection, and his mind had been overcome with fever. The entire trip back to the fort, Tristan was delirious. He relived the torture over and over, and such was his distress that the rest of the men had to hold him down while he slept.

Though it was a long time ago, that night had been forever burned into his mind. A memory he relived during every battle and every kill. His adversaries took the face of the men who had tortured him, and then Tristan thrived in the bloodbath. His sense of morality told him this was not such a rational way of seeking revenge, but it appeased him and there is a certain point in a man's life when that is all he could ask for.

Looking at the desert girl now, Tristan remembered his own feverish delusions and wondered if she would suffer the same thing. He had once heard a healer say that it was through a fever that a person faced their demons. Personally, he would rather face a thousand battles than relive that night.

Ranya felt like death itself. She could no longer control the tremble in her body, and yet she felt as if her insides were on fire, set alight by the wound in her thigh. She knew they would soon be off again, and the thought of mounting a horse again made her want to weep, for it seemed each gallop the horse took was a blow to her stomach. In her homeland, her horse, Akil, had been her truest friend. She had always cherished her rides over the dunes with him. How things had changed.

She had heard the man called Dagonet say she was near fever, although she could already feel it creeping upon her. This she feared most of all. When she was a girl, she had seen a few men fall into that dreaded state, as well some women after giving birth. She had often wondered what they saw in their dark dreams to make them cry out in the night. It seemed she would soon find out.

" Knights, gather your things, we leave for the wall. We will not be stopping, so make sure all your things are in order," Arthur said.

Dagonet finished his tight bandaging of Ranya's wound, which he had covered with a paste made of crushed herbs, and put a hand to her forehead.

" You will fight this, just as you fought for your life before. We will take care of you," he whispered to her, not knowing how much those words comforted and scared her all the same. What life? If she survived this, where would she go?

Without a word, Tristan made his way over to where the young woman lay and helped gather the cloak around her form, silently informing Dagonet that he would be riding with her again. Dagonet nodded, standing to go to his mare.

Ranya was slowly losing her grip on her surroundings, her trembling becoming more pronounced and a cold sweat breaking over her skin. But somehow, without even seeing him, she knew whose hand had brushed her arm as it enfolded her in the cloak. The exuding heat of his touch was so startling to her that she forced her eyes open to look at him. His expression was inert, his mind focused solely on the task at hand. There was no warmth to be found in his face, and yet his touch made up for that. It was hard to believe this was the same man she had fought in that great hall not long ago, and yet, looking at his eyes now, she knew it was he.

Tristan could feel her eyes on him as he finished tying the cloak. He wondered if she was afraid of him, for he was not the kindest looking of the knights. He knew Dagonet or Gawain, or even Lancelot, would be better suited to escort her back to the wall, but for some reason, he felt he had to ride with her. He had defeated her, and now he would have to be the one to free her.

When he finished, he looked into her eyes. He held her gaze for some time, seeing concentration in her expression. She was studying him, unabashed. He understood why when she slowly lifted her hand toward his cheek, but not touching the marking that was there. She suddenly pulled her hand away, letting it fall on her stomach.

He then lifted her from the ground, earning a groan from her lips. He knew she was in pain, which would worsen with the fever.

Lancelot helped settle her on the horse with Tristan, making sure she was well covered against the winds they would surely face.

" The ride will not be easy for her" Lancelot stated.

" Wouldn't be the first" Tristan answered back.

" Watch for rebels, we must make haste. I want to reach the wall by sundown." Arthur stated, directing his horse towards the forest's borders.

He was followed by the other men, with Gawain and Bors flanking the group. When they began to pick up considerable speed, Tristan put his right arm over Ranya's shoulder, pulling her against him, while his other hand held onto the reigns. She was dimly aware of this, her breath shallow and her face flushed. In the recesses of her mind, she cursed the gods of this land for making it such a cold place.

It was late in the afternoon by the time the knights had crossed the Deiran River. This meant they were nearing the wall, though it would still take a few hours until they arrived. They had not slowed nor changed pace since their last stop. Arthur knew what this must have been costing Ranya, but they had no choice. These were dangerous lands, especially on this side of the river.

Ranya had long since left the world of the conscious, though she seemed to want to return to it very soon. Tristan had spent most of his time holding her still as she slept, for she was tossing this way and that and calling out to people he obviously did not know. He said nothing and did not complain. She was, after all, having a harder time of it than he. His main concern was of keeping the both of them from falling from his horse because of her beleaguered movements. All the while, he scanned their surroundings for any sign of a threat. Since crossing the waters he had had an uneasy feeling about their location. At their speed, it would be hard to attack in any kind of organized fashion, but he was worried about the watchers in the forest, who he knew for a fact they had long range bows. He knew the other men thought the same as he, for they often turned their heads towards the deep woods.

A sudden sound carried by the wind made him turn to the woods once more. This sound did not come from an animal, for it was a grunt that seemed too distinctly human. He spurred his horse faster, coming up to ride next to Arthur.

" We've been spotted," he told Arthur. Arthur looked at Tristan for a moment, and then looked ahead to the horizon.

" How many?" he asked.

" I don't know, but I believe they are lining the border" he answered. As Arthur looked back, a sharp whistling sound could be heard. Behind him, Gawain cursed. This single arrow, they knew, was the call for battle. Soon, a large number of wild looking men, once civilized members of roman society, began running over the hills, cutting off their frontal route.

" Tristan, find a safe place to hide the girl! We will not be able to escape battle this time", Arthur, yelled, as he steadied his horse.

Tristan was already riding towards the standing stones he had spotted earlier, at the bottom of the grassy hill. Looking over his shoulder he saw the knights retrieving their weapons, Galahad already firing arrows at the assailants.

He gracefully descended from his horse with the girl in his arms, who was still shivering. As he put her down behind one of the huge rocks, he saw her face contorted in pain. She was awake, but he was not sure if she knew what was happening. Taking her face in his hands, he forced her to look at him.

" You must stay quiet. I will come back for you soon", he said. With one final look at her, he stood and mounted his horse, making his way towards his fighting companions.

Ranya had seen the quiet man's face and saw his lips move. He had said something to her, but she did not know what. She thought she could hear the clashing of metal in the distance, but of this also she was not sure. She could not really trust her mind as of late, for she had been seeing the dead. In her delusional state, she saw the faces of all the slaves she had been forced to kill. She saw her uncle, Shalem, and her cousins, all scorning her for her crimes. She saw her father, ashamed at calling her daughter, and she saw her mother and older sister, disgraced at having such a stain upon the female lineage. She pleaded with them, begged them for forgiveness, and asked them to remember their love for her. But they turned away, casting their eyes to the ground in shame. She had seen the women of her family, all cursing her for killing the sons and daughters of other mothers. And then they had vanished, leaving her relieved and empty at the same time.

She had seen Gallus and had relived that first night in her mind. She screamed and yelled curses on his name as forced her onto his bed. She remembered the way he had ripped the dress from her body and the way she had scratched at his face in response to it. Her soul broke once again as she recalled the way he had forced himself into her, and how she had kept hitting him as he took away the only thing that had not yet been taken from her.

Now she lay on the cold ground, looking up at the disappearing gleam of the sun, trying to fight against the demons in her mind.

When Tristan rode back to where he had left the others, he saw that the men were already deeply engaged in combat. He fired an arrow as he approached, quickly scanning the trees for any archers. Seeing none, he dismounted and unsheathed his sword. As soon as his feet hit the ground, he heard the man run towards him from behind. He turned and began fighting him, his strokes purposeful and seeking out a weakness.

" Dag! Get the one on the right, I'll take care of this fat shit!" Bors yelled, looking at a large man with heavy armor.

Lancelot smirked upon hearing this, while he himself was preoccupied with an axe-wielding rebel. You could always tell how well the fight was going by the way Bors insulted the enemy.

The number of rebels had dwindled down considerably, Gawain, Lancelot and Tristan finishing off the last of them, as Galahad fired arrows at the retreating figures of the rest.

Tristan stopped the man's swing as it approached his side. Taking the dagger from his hand, he swiftly sliced the man's throat, pushing him aside. Wiping his chin, which he knew had been splattered with the foul creature's blood, he looked for his horse.

" Tristan, where is the girl, Ranya?" asked Dagonet who was fixing his belt.

" Behind the rocks. I'm going back for her now" he said, as he mounted Hetouyn.

He saw that she was still there, though this certainly did not surprise him. What did surprise him was that she was clutching her thigh, her breathing very ragged. Her hands seemed to be rigid and when he placed his own over them, she whimpered and looked at him wildly. He placed his hand on her brow, and felt the burning skin there. He sighed as he tried to warm her hands. They would need to get her to the fort, and soon.

" What is wrong?" asked Galahad, who had arrived with Dagonet while the others waited on the hill.

" The fever has worsened. I can do nothing more for her here. She needs a healer from the wall" Dagonet said, as he examined the wound, from which he had pried Ranya's hand from. He was worried, for even with her dark complexion, the young woman looked pale.

" Then we must ride fast. The wall is some leagues away. We can make it before dark." Said Galahad, helping her onto the horse with Tristan. As he had lifted her, she had cried out.

" Dinah!" There were tears streaming her cheeks.

As Tristan rode with the others, he tried to ignore the strangled sobs from the woman in front of him. As the dark structure that was Hadrian's Wall came into view, he hoped that the foreign woman had enough strength in her yet, because if she would be facing her demons, it would be tonight.

_So I hope this chapter sheds light on a bit of Tristan's past. Since he is the scout for the knights, I believe he assesses most of the risk in riding out alone, so it fits in well._

_Also, I didn't clarify this earlier, but the Druze horse riders actually existed in the 1940's during WWII as Lebanese rebels who wanted Lebanon's independence. I know the chronology is way off, but I love their story and figured I would use their name for a similar group of men in 6th century Arabia. And also, it's my story…_

_Please review guys, I really love reading what you think. _


	7. A return

Disclaimer: I own nothing except my original character.

Very sorry for the ridiculously long delay. I have been having trouble getting all my thoughts together for the rest of this story. Thank you to those who reviewed! Anyways, here's the new chapter. Hope you'll like it.

Chapter 7:

It was night by the time the men finally made it though the gates of Hadrian's Wall, and all were glad for it. Well, at least most were.

" Bors! You squalid son of a bitch!" a penetrating voice yelled.

Now usually, the knights received a very warm homecoming, which would have been the case, had the shrill voice not pierced their ears. At the sound of it, every knight cringed, but it was Bors who looked about ready to pray to every single god he knew of for deliverance. Striding resolutely through the welcoming crowds was the spectacle of fury that was Vanora.

" I asked you for one thing before you left! One thing! Do you have any idea the hell I've been living in with that back window off its latch! I've got eleven bairns to keep warm, you know!"

As Bors dismounted and handed the reins to Bran, Jols' new apprentice, his gaze looked to the heavens, wondering how in all the world he had managed to snag himself the feistiest woman in Britain. Then again, feistiness wasn't such a bad thing for a man like Bors, and he had eleven reasons to prove it.

For most of the knights, homecomings often left them with a small twinge of longing, especially when Vanora and the children were all there to greet them. Many of them often thought of what it would be like to be welcomed home in such a manner. After the crowd dissipated, Bors would go home to a family and would undoubtedly remain surrounded late into the night. This thought often flitted across the minds of the other men as they passed the gates.

Bors had gone over to Vanora and was obviously trying to form some kind of a suitable apology for his omission.

The other men had dismounted as well and were helping the stable boys round up the horses. Lancelot took Ranya from Tristan's arms to allow him to do the same. As her form came into view, a sudden hush fell over the gathering crowd.

" Jols, please inform the healer that his aid is required. We found this young woman in the Roman fort we journeyed to and she is badly injured." Arthur said, looking around him to see the people staring at the young girl lying limply in Lancelot's arms. He did not want to give any explanation for her condition, as many roman soldiers roamed inside the fort.

" Of course, Arthur" said Jols.

" Bors, what happened to her?" asked a now calm Vanora.

He gave her the gist of it, not wanting to say too much in front of his few children who were old enough to be present at such an hour.

" The poor girl! Oh, some of these Romans are absolute savages!" replied Vanora, her hand to her heart.

" If ye ask me, she be the one looks like a savage" whispered a blonde, curvaceous woman who worked as a tavern wench. " There are tales te be heard bout them southern peoples, and they ain't none o' that fairy rubbish te calm the babes either." She said with a knowing look.

" Oh Hylda, would ye stop believing everything you hear!" said Vanora with annoyance.

" Nay, she be right. I heard that when they can't find no water in them sand lands, they drink the blood o' their elders" said another man guardedly.

" And if you believe that, yer more of an idiot then I thought ye were Avery." Said Bors, steering Vanora and the children away from the crowd. " Dag, let me know how it goes with her, eh?" he yelled as he walked away.

Tristan, having heard some of the whispers from the crowd, went over to Lancelot who was turning to make his way through the throng of people with Arthur.

He pulled the girl's hood over her head, making sure to cover the marking on her temple.

" No need to feed the fire," he offered simply, in response to Lancelot's inquisitive look.

Ranya was not an overly devout believer of the religion of her people, which would explain her skepticism concerning certain theological ideas such as life after death or the underworld. If she had however, her present state would most likely fit the description of one who is sentenced to hell. Amidst the muffled sounds of people moving around the room and the voices in the long, drafty corridor, Ranya knew she had arrived to the knights' destination.

She realized, with immense gratitude, that she was lying in a warm, comfortable bed, to which her old dingy cot paled greatly in comparison. She slowly opened her eyes and was thankful that it was still dark out, for the sharp daylight would have surely stung her eyes.

At first, everything seemed distorted, as though the entire room was hazy. Then slowly, her vision became clear.

" Well, I am happy to see you have returned to us Lady," said a voice to her right.

The man, whom she guessed was the healer because of the herbs he was crushing, looked incredibly old. Dressed in varying shades of brown, which did nothing to hide his unnatural thinness, the man's wrinkled face was framed with rapidly thinning hair, which reached his shoulders.

" W-whe-

" Sir Arthur and the knights brought you here. You were in quite a state, young woman. I myself am surprised at how well you recovered. Not to imply that my healing capabilities are in any way weak. I am quite skilled in what I do. In fact, it was just two days ago I helped old Fergus with a nasty boil on his-

" How long have I been here?" Ranya asked, feeling it was better to leave the location of sir Fergus' nasty boil unknown. She had a feeling this healer had a tendency to talk his patients into a stupor, and seeing as how she had just awoken from one, it was better to stop him before things got out of hand.

" Well, bout four nights Lady. I must say, your wounds have responded well to the tincture I made. Your fingers, however…" he trailed off as he took her hand in his and inspected her fingers.

" You are not used to such cold weather, are you?" he asked, his eyebrows rising in complement of his inquisitive tone.

She gave no answer and simply stared at her stiff fingers.

"Hmm…well, they will take longer to heal. Might be a bit hard to use them at first, but you'll come see me every other day, so I can give you your salve".

A movement to the healers left brought Ranya's attention to the presence of another man in the room. She supposed she had been to dazed upon her awakening to have noticed that there were in fact, many people in the chamber. The chamber itself was quite long, with candles lit here and there. There were a dozen beds or so lining one side of the room's wall. She was the only one in a bed though.

She returned her attention to the newcomer and realized she knew him. Not by name nor by his appearance, but simply by his imposing importance. 'This is a born leader' she thought.

" Good evening Lady Ranya. I am very pleased to find you well. How do you feel?" he asked.

" I…fine. I am better," she said, suddenly realizing it.

" Welcome news. I am Arthur Castus, and you are presently at Hadrian's Wall. I was hoping you would be well enough to speak with me about our next course of action…concerning yourself of course" he said kindly.

" Y-yes, of course" she replied. 'Next course of action?' Now that he had mentioned it, a slight panic had started to lay its foundations in the pit of her stomach. Where was she to go now? She had spent the last four years as a slave, and now she was free.

" I will speak with Lugaid here, and then we will talk," he said with smile, leading the old healer away. While the two discussed what she supposed was her state of health, Ranya took a moment to look at herself. She was covered in a blanket of fur, for which she was immensely thankful. Lifting the covers with the intent of looking at the state of her thigh, she discovered with astounding embarrassment her state of undress. Who undressed her? Looking at the old healer and feeling slightly disturbed, she quickly brought the covers down, noting with annoyance that her face was flaming. Suddenly her gaze focused on the man sitting in the opposite side of the room…watching her. His forearm was being bandaged by a woman. He was completely ignoring her reprimands and was staring intently at Ranya.

Mentally swearing in her native tongue, she recognized the man. Dark hair, dark eyes, the latter being partially obstructed by the former. Her face flushed even more, when she saw a slight tug at his lips and knew he had watched her embarrassing self-discovery.

Then, without a word, he stood and rolled down his sleeve, his eyes never leaving Ranya's.

" Arthur, I will be in the stables with Jols and Bran," he said, finally looking away from Ranya.

" Alright Tristan. I'll see you in the morning." Arthur said, now coming over to Ranya's bed now that Tristan had left the room.

Ranya now felt greatly disconcerted since the man Arthur had called Tristan had left the room. Something about his look, his unabashed staring made her feel so volatile yet irritated at the same time.

" Well, Lady, I think it best for you to start with the beginning of your story. Only then will we truly know were we stand" said Arthur, as he pulled a stool near the bed.

With a sigh, Ranya began her pitiful tale.

It was late into the night, and Ranya had told Arthur most of her story. She left out a few things that she felt were not exactly pressing to be heard. She had told him of her life in the desert, her homeland and of how her family had been torn apart by death and barbaric acts. She told him how she had been sold from place to place throughout the empire until Gallus had come across her. She did not tell him how many people she had killed. Honestly, she did not know herself, and even if she had, the shame and guilt of all those deaths would simply not allow it. It seemed her punishment for surviving every one of those duels would be to live in the memory of her victims, even if she was more than reluctant to make them so.

" Do you know if you have any living kin in your homeland?" Arthur asked, feeling for this girl immensely. He still could not believe what had been happening inside Gallus' fort. It made him livid to think men like him still roamed the empire freely and unconcerned.

" I don't know. My uncle and cousins were taken as slaves also, and I have no idea were they might be now. Aside from them…the tribe was attacked…I…there were no survivors…" she trailed off. She felt her eyes sting from her effort to keep the tears from escaping. There was no one left now. Her family, her heritage, was now scattered like the dust from the bones of the dead.

" Lady Ranya" Arthur said softly, noticing her internal battle, " you are welcomed to stay at the Wall as long as you like. I will contact some of my colleagues in Rome and see if I can discover what became of your uncle".

" Thank you, Sir Arthur."

Ranya was no naïve fool. She knew it would be near impossible to find her uncle and cousins, if they were even alive.

The wooden door slowly opened and pretty looking woman with auburn hair walked in, followed by a rather gruff looking man with a bald head.

" Arthur, Lugaid told me to come and help the wounded girl to the baths. If this is a bad time, I could-

" No, no, Vanora, it's fine. I have been exhausting this poor girl with questions for far too long. Ranya" he said, now looking at her, " this is Vanora, she will help you with your bath" he said, and with slight inclination of his head, left the room with the bald man, whom Ranya had been looking at with apprehension.

The woman called Vanora smiled warmly at Ranya and went over to help her out of bed and dress her in a robe.

" Don't mind my Bors, he looks tougher than he is. He's a great fighter, but he's even better with the kids. Now don't let any of the men hear that, else they'll badger him for a month. If only he could be great at listening to me when I tell him to fix things…" Vanora said, her tone growing slightly irritated, as she tied Ranya's robe.

" Stupid git, how hard is it to fix a bloody latch! He'll have a week's worth of shit and vomit to clean up for that…"she exclaimed rather vehemently as she helped Ranya up.

Well, that's it. Please review!


	8. The Wanderer

Disclaimer: I own nothing except my original character.

Thank ye, dear reviewers!

**To Cardeia: **It is always a pleasure to hear from you. Such rich reviews! Thank you very much for you minute assessments! I love them! Hope you will enjoy this new chapter!

Chapter 8: The Wanderer

It had been so long since Ranya had felt this way, she could barely remember a time when this was something she took for granted. She now sat on a wooden stool in the healer's chambers, though this time, she was clean. Amazing what warm water could do for the soul. Vanora had lit candles around the room, casting a glorious glow on everything. Ranya could not help but observe the way the shadows were splayed on the walls, something she had not been able to do peacefully for four years. Vanora was combing through her long dark hair with such gentleness, Ranya felt sleep slowly coming upon her.

She had discovered that the lady Vanora was a wonderful woman. There was so much warmth and tenderness in her face; Ranya knew at once she must be a mother. She had not asked too many questions, which allowed Ranya to feel more at ease in the presence of the redhead. Eventually, Ranya explained to Vanora exactly where she came from and spoke of her family.

" So many men! You must have lost your mind!" Vanora said, upon hearing of Ranya's four cousins and uncle.

" Well, I did not mind it so much. They taught me many things I would never have learned had I always stayed with the women in the tent",Ranya said with small smile. It was true: her father had once said that surely s had meant for Ranya to be a boy, after a particular incident involving a rather large mallet and the back end of the tribe's new trade camel.

" What do you mean by the tent?" Vanora asked.

" Well, it is tradition for women who are of age to gather within the red tent during their time each month. When the women gather, it is a sacred time. The men are not allowed to enter the tent, but that was never a problem because none of them ever tried" she said with a grin.

Ranya had often heard the women of her tribe laugh at the way the men were afraid of the red tend. They did not know what went on inside, and the women never thought to enlighten them. Ranya had a strong suspicion that this omission was not entirely accidental, for the women found great entertainment in the apprehension of their men. The women of her tribe were strong women. Her father, whom she had always admired so much, had once told her that women were the backbone of the tribe. The Bedouin tribes all revered their women, for they brought forth the life that would make their legacies eternal.

" Well, that does not seem fair at all! If my Bors tried to lock me up during my courses, I think I'd make sure he never saw a cockstand till the day he died. And even then, I'm sure I could find a way to haunt him in the afterlife!" Vanora said, laughing and making Ranya smile.

" It's not really a matter of locking up the women. When the women gather in the tent, it is a time of rest for them, and a time for sacred rituals." Ranya said, pausing in remembrance. "I was never very fond of it though, I always wanted to stay with my father, and later my cousins. That was at a time when I did not fully understand the power of women." Ranya said.

" What do you mean?" Vanora asked, fixing the laces on the back of the nightdress she had leant Ranya.

" Well, I was always with the men, especially after my mother and sister died, so I learnt a great many things that would not normally be taught to girls. It was only when I was captured, when I was sixteen, that I knew... that I realized…" Ranya trailed off, sighing. That night, that horrible night, had been her moment of awakening. Girls of her tribe would learn of their importance as women, of their pivotal role through the coming of age rituals at the age she was taken. She had not lived the same enlightenment her fellow sisters had. It was on the night Gallus took her, that she realized she was a woman. Though she did not feel what the other girls said she would: powerful, proud, strong, resilient. She felt none of this. She had known shame such as no other in her tribe. She had been taken out of force, forced to surrender her body to one who was stronger.

Feeling long buried emotions rising to the surface, Ranya looked at the tapestry on the wall near the window. Since that night, she had decided to never speak of it again. She would not deny that it happened, that would do her no good, she knew. But it would be a silent pain, a burden she would conquer herself in time, alone.

Vanora, who had sensed Ranya stiffen under her hands, walked around her and knelt down so that her eyes were level with Ranya's.

" Listen love, whatever happened to you, whatever you went through, it's over now. You are free from that life and you can try and move on. In the meantime, I'll be here for you, if you need it" she said earnestly, as only a woman could speak to another woman.

Ranya nodded her thanks.

" You should get some sleep. Arthur asked me to escort you to the round table in the morning. Lugaid will come tend to your wounds as well." She helped Ranya to her bed and left her to her thoughts for the night.

Ranya felt as though she had been transported to another time and place. She was standing in the entrance of the grand meeting room, in which there was a magnificent round table. It really was beautifully crafted, and she had never see anything like it. She looked around the table, where she found seven men standing and apparently waiting for her. Vanora had just led her through the door and from the moment she had stepped inside, Ranya found she could not abandon her observation of these men. Now that she was rested and conscious, with only a slight throbbing in her thigh, she could truly look at the men who had taken her away from her prison. The burly, bald man, she now recognized as the man Vanora called Bors. There was a tall man next to him, with a scar lining his face. She did not know his name. But she knew he had been the one to bind her wounds in the forest.

Arthur was there and to his right was a man with curly brown hair and such intensity to his presence that Ranya actually tilted her head while she looked at him. Next to him was a blond, longhaired man with amazingly clear eyes. Flanking him was a curly haired man who Ranya believed looked a bit younger than the rest of the men.

'Damn' she swore in her native tongue. There was the silent knight from the healer's chambers. He had crossed his arms over his chest and was looking at her. 'Not again' she thought. His gaze greatly disconcerted her and she was not sure she liked the feeling.

" Please Lady Ranya, come and sit down. We would not want you to aggravate your wound," said Arthur, motioning her inside with his hand.

Vanora helped her to a chair, and although she tried immensely to hide the pain it caused her when she sat, she knew her attempt was completely futile as she was in a room full of attentive warriors and trackers.

" Lady- Arthur began, but was interrupted by Ranya.

" Please, simply Ranya. I am no Lady of this court," she said quietly.

" Ranya then. I have spoken with my men and have explained your situation to them. They have all agreed to your staying here until you make further decisions concerning your future plans." He stopped to see her reaction, and when she said nothing, he continued.

" However, I would like you to answer as many questions as you can concerning Aelius Gallus" he said.

At this, she looked up at him, her eyes suddenly focused, as if his name alone had put her on alert. She nodded.

" While you were at the fort, did you hear anything about his trading activity with Rome?"

" Sir, it was a rarity for me to hear much from where I was." She said with sigh. "But I had overheard servants now and then. The entire fort was rather agitated for about six moons before you arrived. Travelers passed through almost every other day, most of them unchecked, that much I am sure of" she said as she folded her hands in her lap.

" Unchecked? Why would Gallus allow it? Surely he knew the consequences of this type of breach?" asked the dark knight to Arthur's right.

Ranya snorted at this.

" My lord, it was no great secret within the walls of the fort that Gallus had been accepting bribes from foreign merchants and rebels. How do you think he was able to buy all those slaves? He has long been corrupt, and was before I arrived there," she said.

" Do you know with whom he was dealing with? Rogues? Saxons?" Arthur asked, bringing his hand to his temple.

" I'm sorry. I never saw many people, I only heard rumors. I could not tell you," she said.

Arthur nodded and seemed to be contemplating something as he stared at the middle of the table.

Ranya swallowed and began wringing her hands as she looked down again. She was not sure what else to do or say. It had been a while since she had dealt with people.

" Well, I thank you Ranya. You have been of most help. I have arranged for you to have a room in the inn near the carpenter's shop. Bors, do you think Vanora could show her?" Arthur asked.

" I will show her, Arthur," said Dagonet, as he stood.

Ranya also stood, though she leaned heavily on her arms to do so.

" I'll go with you, Dag. Van'll probably need a hand with the bairns" said Bors.

Dagonet supported Ranya as they exited the room, closing the enormous doors behind them.

" Foreign merchants and rebels?" Gawain said, cocking one eyebrow.

" From Gallus, this is no great surprise. News has traveled fast across these lands," Arthur said.

" As though we haven't got enough to deal with, what with Woads and Saxons. We have been able to keep the rebels at bay so far, but if they are getting easy passage from a roman, It'll be hell trying to fend them off our borders." Said Lancelot, looking weary.

" Yes, well, until we know exactly what Gallus is doing, we will take all precautions necessary. Tristan, I want you to leave early for your scouting mission. We need to make sure there hasn't been any increased activity with the Woads and the rebels." Arthur said.

" I can leave at dawn," said Tristan simply. He had had an inkling that this would happen. He would visit a few of his…acquaintances to see if there was any news worth hearing.

" Good. Don't tire yourself out today," Arthur said to Tristan. " And Lancelot, could you go see Niall with Gawain. We have a few weapons that need mending, and I was hoping he'd be up to it"

" I don't think he's up to anything these days. The man is so past his prime I think he's already begun to dig his grave," said Gawain as the men made to leave the room.

Tristan made for his quarters, so that he could get ready for his mission. There were a few things he would need for this specific excursion. Being Arthur's scout, Tristan often had the liberty of doing things his way, since he worked alone. When information was needed, he had the fortunate advantage of having a few well-placed connections. Granted, these connections were not entirely…customary for a knight, but his dealings with his few unsavory informants often brought forth helpful information. Most of the people he dealt with were outcast of their respective communities, men rejected for their crimes and betrayals. Tristan would pay them for their information, as he had found early on that these men were desperate.

As he entered his quarters and began to prepare, his thoughts turned to the outcast currently residing within the fort. For that was what she was, he had known it since their arrival at the fort with the reaction from the crowd. She would not have an easy time of it. He knew first hand that the people who dwelled within the walls of the fort had never left this land, therefore they had never seen anyone who looked remotely like the woman called Ranya. Most people here were guarded when it came to outsiders, mainly because of their fear of the unknown. Being a man of silence, people were apprehensive of Tristan and tried to avoid him if they could. They knew of his responsibility within the group of knights and respected what he did for them, but it was a respect that stemmed more from apprehension rather than admiration. He was a killer.

Granted, so were the other men, but Tristan killed without remorse. Swift and fierce. He kept to himself after a battle, unlike the other men who grouped together and drank to forget the lingering guilt of the day's killings. He preferred it that way, and no one questioned him.

He thought back to his duel with the foreign woman, and could not suppress his grin. She was stubborn, that much had been apparent. She fought clumsily and her footing was not as quick as he imagined it normally was, but he saw everything he needed to see in her eyes. How ironic that the darkest pair of eyes he had ever seen would be so transparent, displaying every emotion that passed behind them. He recalled what happened in the healer's chambers, and still found her embarrassment amusing. Her flushed face however, had stirred something else in him. He preferred not to dwell on this, and resigned himself to the belief that his reaction was nothing more than a result of his recent streak of celibacy. He would see to it upon his return.

It had been a gray afternoon, and the darkness of the night relieved the depressing mood of such a bland day. Ranya, who was indeed feeling much better, had decided to join Vanora at the tavern after having settled herself in her room.

Walking towards the tavern door now, Ranya was not sure it had been such a good idea for her to leave her room at all. People on the road had stared at her unabashed, some of them even pointing and whispering to others.

She entered to tavern to find the place full of people. Roman soldiers, peasants and bar wenches roamed the place, filling the air with loud conversations, raucous laughter and the occasional giggle, which she deduced came from the bar wenches who were strewn across the laps of some of the men.

" Lady Ranya!" someone shouted.

She turned and looked towards the table near the post. The knights were all there, sitting around the table haphazardly. The man with long, light hair had come towards her.

" I believe it is time for us to make ourselves better acquainted, my Lady. We have not had the opportunity for a formal greeting since your arrival" he said, leading her to the table.

" Oh good, you came! I was really hoping you wouldn't change your mind" said Vanora, as she passed Ranya, giving her shoulder a squeeze. Ranya smiled.

" Gawain, would you be a gentleman and introduce the lady to the rest of us, before she looks a Bors and runs away" said Lancelot, smiling mischievously.

" One of these days, Vanora…!" Bros said, as Vanora restrained him from hitting Lancelot over the head.

" Right, well, the cheeky one here is Lancelot. You will rarely find him without a woman on his lap in this tavern" he added. And indeed, there was presently a blond haired woman hanging onto his shoulder.

" This is Galahad, and next to him is Dagonet" he said.

Ranya recognized the latter as the man who helped her with her wounds and smiled.

" Thank you, for what you did" she said.

" It was nothing, my Lady," he said gently.

" The large, portly looking man is Bors, our newly appointed wielder of wooden fences," said Gawain, laughing with the others. Clearly, Bors' demonstration with his improvised weapon would long be cause for ribbing.

" Ferocious with a stick, this one" said Lancelot, looking at Ranya while pointing at Bors.

Ranya could not help but laugh at the way Bors said " Who are you calling portly!" in a disgruntled tone.

" That is Tristan, our scout," said Gawain, pointing towards the man leaning against the post.

She of course knew who he was, but that did not stop her from staring at him as though she had never seen him before. Again, she felt disconcerted by his presence and took her a while to realize the blond man was talking to her.

"… not much of a talker. And I am Gawain, at your service, my Lady." He said with a mock bow. The others laughed.

" Sit down love. We don't want you to tire yourself out, that leg isn't fully healed yet," said Vanora, helping her to her chair.

" Can I get you some ale?" she asked.

"Yes" Ranya was surprised at her own eagerness for a drink. She felt a bit nervous among all these new people and had noticed that more and more people throughout the tavern had been looking her way none too discreetly.

When Ranya tasted her drink, she was careful not show her dislike. 'It tastes like water!' she thought. She was accustomed to the strong wine of her people, and this ale was doing nothing for her nerves.

Although she found herself growing more and more comfortable in the rpesence of the knights, Ranya could see people staring at her throughout the bar. She looked around, and saw a few of them quickly look away, other did not even try to hide their sneers.

She decided to go and see if Vanora needed any help, so she could hide from the looks she was getting. When Vanora refused her offer, saying she should just sit down and relax, Ranya decided to stay standing near the wall, where there was not as much light.

" You should not let them bother you so," said a deep voice near her ear. She quickly turned and saw Tristan standing there, his drink in his hand, looking ahead with an impassive stare.

" I…I don't" she stammered, quite unconvincingly.

" You do. They know nothing of your country, they know nothing of you. You should not care what they think," he said simply.

" I don't, normally. At least, I didn't. Being a slave does not really induce much sensitivity to what people think of you. For four years, I was a rare object to be owned. That went without question. Now though, I am free. I suppose the perspective has changed." She said, turning to look at him.

He said nothing, and merely watched as Gawain and Galahad began to throw daggers at the wooden post.

She watched them as well, feeling that this would be as many words as the silent knight would utter tonight. So naturally, she was surprised when he spoke again.

" How is your leg?"

" Better. Lugaid said I am healing well," she answered. Which was true, although it still pained her sometimes. She could not walk very fast yet.

" Should you be standing on it?" he asked, nodding towards her right thigh.

" I was bedridden for four days. I don't think I will die if I walk on it for an hour or two" she said, slightly annoyed. If there was one thing she hated, it was doing nothing. Her restlessness had already begun. She decided she would go back to her room; for she was in no mood too argue with this dark knight as she had done with Lugaid. She told Tristan this and made to leave when he stopped her.

" Wait. I will walk you to the inn." He said. He tapped Dagonet on the shoulder and the other nodded.

As they made their way, rather slowly because of Ranya, out of the tavern, Ranya felt annoyed that he insisted on escorting her.

" You don't have to walk with me. You should go back and enjoy yourself with you men," she said.

" I must get up early in the morning. I leave at dawn for a scouting mission" he said.

" You ride alone?" she asked, her curiosity getting the best of her.

" Mostly, yes" he said. He found it amusing that she believed she could take care of herself with an injured leg and a fort filled with roman soldiers who saw her as an exotic treasure for the taking. That was his real reason for wanting to escort her to her quarters. He could not help but notice how much healthier she looked now. Her face was no longer gaunt, and her skin had regained its olive glow. She was not as thin, and her body had regained its rightful curves, he noticed with intense observation.

At last they arrived at the inn where she stayed.

" Thank you" she said as she looked at him one last time that night. Her gaze lingered a bit longer than she wanted, and as she turned to walk into the inn, she mentally cursed for her giddy behavior. Why was she so caught up in the way this man looked at her? She could still feel his eyes on her as she closed the door, and she shivered. 'Stop it' she told herself.

As she settled herself into her bed for the night, she knew it was just her nervousness. What else could make her feel and act in such a way in his presence?

With this, she tried to fall asleep, trying to ignore the banging and moaning coming from the room next to hers. She groaned into her pillow. It was going to be an eventful night.

There you go. Please review!


	9. De nouvelles habitudes

Disclaimer: I own nothing except my original character.

Thank you for the reviews everyone. Much appreciated!

Chapter 9: De nouvelles habitudes

' This is becoming ridiculous' thought a very frustrated Ranya as she sat on her bed, momentarily reclaiming her mind from the wandering thoughts often cause by boredom. She had been staring out the window for what had seemed most of the morning to her. Arthur and Lugaid had both told her to rest, but she could not stand it any longer. She had been at the fort for nearly twelve days, and although her leg still caused her some discomfort, she still felt her time was being wasted by not doing anything.

Her hands, however, were different matter. The harsh cold of the season caused her fingers to become stiff and swollen. Ranya believed that her state of uselessness was not helping things.

She arose from her bed towards the window. Her eyes fell upon the main pass, where she could see many roman soldiers patrolling the wall. She had been a frequent guest upon the pass during the last few days. She was still greatly surprised at her own eagerness to go every morning, and even more confused. The simple, singular reason for her daily outings was to see if Tristan would arrive that day. She did not know exactly why she felt so compelled to go, for the chances of him arriving while she was watching were very slim. But she was worried. She could not deny that. She knew he had been gone longer than expected. Then again, she also knew he was more than capable of taking care of himself. Though his fighting had surely been subdued that last knight at Gallus' fort, it had been enough to display his skills.

Her train of thought was interrupted by the sound of men shouting and laughing loudly. Looking out the window to where the sounds were coming from, Ranya could distinguish three men inside an enclosure, which she knew to be the practice grounds. One look at a dark haired man wielding two swords was enough to tell her Lancelot and a few of the other knights were down there.

Having nothing to do, Ranya decided to pay the dueling men a visit.

" Lady Ranya, I see you have finally come to feast your eyes upon my masculine prowess!" Lancelot exclaimed, dodging a mock blow to the shoulder by Gawain's fist.

" Masculine prowess! Lancelot, from what I hear, your prowess anything but masculine!" retorted Gawain, laughing with Galahad who had come over to lean on the fence near Ranya.

This made Lancelot glare at Gawain suspiciously, who was slowly backing away, as though protecting himself from what would surely follow his next statement.

" Oh come now Lancelot! There is nothing to be ashamed of! I'm sure it happens to the best of us, doesn't it Galahad?" he said, trying very hard to keep a straight face.

" Oh, I will take no part in this Gawain!" said Galahad with a smile. He leaned over the fence towards Ranya, " I am afraid to admit this is not a rarity here at the training grounds. I suppose it is part of our ability to stay sane," he whispered with a smile.

" Well, men will be men," said Ranya.

" Gawain, if you don't bloody tell me what you are on about, I-!

" Lancelot" Gawain interrupted in a placating tone, as though he was conversing with a child " it's not you fault. You have the right to be angry. I mean, I would be as well if I could not bring myself to stand…at attention" he finished, with a wink and salute in Lancelot's direction.

Galahad guffawed and Ranya brought her hand to her mouth to stifle her laughter.

Lancelot's face cascaded from confusion to pure fury as his eyes bulged with shock.

Then, in the fashion of a true and noble knight, whose honor is only surpassed by his loyalty, he charged like the boy who still lived inside him.

" So, Lady Ranya, what brings you here on such an afternoon?" asked Galahad, as the two knights were presently tangled in a mass of dirt on the ground. Ranya was still smiling.

" I am afraid to say I was becoming restless. There is only so much one can take where rest is concerned".

" I understand. And what were you hoping to find here?" he asked with a smile.

She thought for a moment. " A distraction, perhaps" she said, grinning.

" And a distraction you have found, my Lady, for it is always amusing to see Lancelot being pinned to the ground", said Gawain who had wandered over, followed by Lancelot. Both were absolutely filthy.

" Ha! Gawain, only you and your deluded mind could conjure up such an absurd lie. Never have I been had by you in a fight. I had _you_ pinned to the ground!" said Lancelot, whose jesting face told Ranya he was not really mad at Gawain.

" As you can see, our brave knights know where their priorities lie", said Galahad.

" Look at him, trying to woo our dear maiden with his maturity. How swiftly they grow, hmm Gawain?" said Lancelot. Galahad, now red in the face and having mumbled some incoherent sentence from which Ranya only discerned the words " unfair" and " had plenty of women" made an attempt to change the subject.

" I think we should get the damaged arrows to Niall, now. Don't want to keep him waiting," he said, walking to the other side of the paddock, followed by a chuckling Gawain.

" How are you feeling, Ranya?" asked Lancelot.

" Oh, much better. Tis a bit cold in your land, though" she said, wrapping the brown cloak Vanora had lent her more tightly around herself.

" Oh, well, we have gotten used to it. The weather here is much like Sarmatia's. Does it not get cold in your country, then?" he asked.

" Only at night, but the fires are well managed" she said. A sudden image displayed itself in her mind. The night was as dark as she'd ever seen it, and she was surrounded by people from her tribe, all dancing around the huge fire. One of the young women was to be married, and her union to the man she loved was being celebrated. Ranya never forgot that night, when the desert came alive. A familiar ache weighed upon her heart at this thought. Four years, and still the pain consumed her. In her cell, she had found ways of driving such pain from her mind, because she had many things to worry about, such as her survival. But now…now she had only time. Time to dwell on the past, on the numb realization that she would never see her family again, no matter what Arthur had said.

" Ranya, I am sorry for everything you have been through. No woman should ever have to go through such an ordeal," Lancelot said, placing a hand on her shoulder. He had seen her face when she spoke of her homeland. She was still in great pain, and would be for a long time.

She looked up at him, her eyes fixed upon his face.

" Then, I am sorry for you as well" she said.

" For me? Why?" he asked, confusedly.

" You were taken from your country as well. You are forced to fight and kill for others, are you not?" she asked.

" Well, yes, but that is different-

" Because you are a man" she finished, matter-of-factly. " Lancelot, freedom surpasses gender. It is inherent to our existence. My father told me that when I was a child, and now, more than ever, I believe it."

Lancelot stared at this young woman, with her stance unyielding and her gaze unrelenting, and he knew, in that instance, how she had come to survive all these years.

" You speak wisely, my Lady", he said, with a nod.

" Alright, this should be the lot of them. Lancelot, you should bring the spear to the smithy's as well." Said Gawain, who now held quite a few quivers full of arrows, as did Galahad.

At this, Ranya's head snapped up. The smithy. As in, a blacksmith's shop. Where there are tools. Thoughts were quickly flying through her mind. So many possibilities!

" Um…would you mind if I accompanied you? To the shop, I mean" she said looking to the three of them. When a few eyebrows rose, she added " It's only that I come from a family of craftsmen and I was practically raised in a smithy. I would love to see yours".

" Alright, I don't see why not," said Lancelot as the lot of them made their way. Ranya positively beamed.

" Niall!" screamed Gawain as they entered the shop. It was quite large and it's stone walls made it seem colder. Of course, Ranya knew it would not be so cold if the fires were alight. She could see the different size anvils placed near the two large furnaces. There was a table with metal working tools covering its entire surface and various weapons were hung on the wall. The forge tools lay abandoned on the floor near one of the furnaces and dozens of different sized tongs littered another worktable. Ranya could not believe it. She looked around the room in wonder, taking everything in. 'And it's not even being used!' she thought.

" Hmm, that's odd. He should be here." Said Lancelot, taking some of the quivers from Gawain's arms and placing them on the worktable.

" Perhaps he is working on the locks in the kitchen stores. I heard Vanora say some young ones had damaged them for late night feedings" suggested Galahad.

" Ha! He's probably still asleep. I tell you, the man isn't fit for this anymore" said Gawain.

Ranya, who had been inspecting a chipped blade, looked up questioningly.

" Is he ill?" she asked.

" Surprisingly, no. You see, Niall is getting on in years, and he hasn't the form he once possessed." Lancelot answered. Ranya nodded in understanding. " Not to say that he is not skilled in his craft, on the contrary. You should see the swords he has crafted. Beautiful weaponry. We can mend our own mail, of course and things of the sort. But there are certain things, like swords, and hammers, and axes-

" And armor", cut in Ranya.

" Yes, and armor, that need a craftsman's attention." He finished.

As the knights cleared the table away and talked about the reparations that needed to be made to their various weapons, Ranya's mind was spiraling with ideas. Well, rather one big idea that would need some convincing parlance on her part and some understanding on Arthur's.

" I think I will go back to my room now, I just remembered I was going to help Vanora with her…er…sewing. Thank you very much for the lovely afternoon." She said, bowing her head.

" You are very welcome. I trust we did not frighten you with our male foolishness." Said Gawain with a smile.

" Sir knights, I was raised among men. It would take a lifetime for you to achieve such a feat" she said with a grin, then leaving the room.

" Interesting woman, that one" said Lancelot, nodding towards the door.

" How do you think she is faring, now that she is here?" asked Galahad.

" Well, she certainly puts on a brave face, but who knows what is hiding behind such a mask. Especially after such an experience" said Lancelot.

" Remind you of anyone?" remarked Gawain, with a raised eyebrow.

" Yes well, at least she does not crave spilt blood," said Galahad.

Lancelot sighed. Of all the knights, Galahad was the one who the least accepting of Tristan's ways. The others found this to be natural, seeing as how he was the youngest, and although he denied it, the most innocent. Unbeknownst to him, this was a quality the other men envied. They had seen too much now.

" Galahad, we will never really know what happened to Tristan that night. Only scars tell us the truth of what happened. How he chooses to dispense himself of those horrors is his business." He thought for a moment. " As long as he takes it out on the enemy" he added for good measure, which made Gawain chuckle.

" Arthur, please, I beg of you, let me do this", Ranya pleaded.

After leaving the smithy, Ranya had gone directly to Arthur's quarters, requesting to have an audience with him.

She began explaining her request, which was quite simple really: if he would allow it, she would help the old blacksmith, Niall, with his work and hence repair the various weapons and armor that needed it. At least, she thought it simple enough.

" Ranya, I am sorry. I cannot simply allow you to do this. You are still healing, and this craft is a difficult one to practice" he said, looking at her with an apologetic face. She stood up and began pacing the floor of the grand room where the round table was located. Arthur had been reading reports when she had entered.

" I know this, Arthur. But I have been well trained in it. And you could use the help; I saw the pile of weapons in the armory. I could restore them for you and your men, and do it well… I ask for nothing in return. If you choose it, you have no obligation of payment" she said, sitting back down again, her eyes wide in anticipation of his decision.

He thought a moment, looking at this foreign woman who was essentially asking him to make her a slave…again.

" Why, Lady? To what purpose would this be?" he asked, his curiosity taking over.

" Why? Because I am not used to all this resting and doing nothing. I had more to do in my cell! Arthur, all my life, I have been taught to put my body and mind to use, for that is why I was given life. By Manât, I cannot sit idle and do nothing! Please, give me this one thing, so that I may remember the teachings of my people. If not my old life, at least I would have this," she said, her voice trailing to a softness that touched Arthur. He finally understood. This would be an escape for her. A way to keep herself busy and prevent her thoughts from wandering into her dark past.

The silence that had been making Ranya more and more agitated was suddenly broken.

" Alright. I will speak with Niall," he said with sigh. He had to admire her persistence. " But you will receive payment, that goes without contest"

Ranya exhaled loudly with relief. " Oh! Thank you Arthur. I promise, you will not regret this," she said excitedly. This was the most animated Arthur had seen her, and he had to admit, it did wonders for her. He had a quick glimpse of the girl that once was.

" Her? Work with me? Here?" Niall asked, disbelievingly as he stared at the young girl currently standing in his shop.

" Yes, her people are quite skilled in the craft, as you would of course know. She is no different" Arthur said, diplomatically.

Of course Niall knew this, he had seen traders and foreigners pass through the lands over the years, selling scabbards and curved swords. He had always admired their work, as is the custom from one talented craftsman to another.

He eyed her warily, assessing her in the way a blacksmith would. She was rather short, but then again, so was the norm for most women. Good shoulders, her forearms seemed steady enough.

" Show me your hands," he demanded. She immediately responded.

"Hmmhmm…" good-sized hands, for her build of course. She would be very skilled at the detailed work (which he found to be terribly tedious and painful work now that his joints were shot to hell) for they were rather small. But then again, so was the norm for most women- 'Am I truly considering this?' he asked himself. A woman blacksmith. Well, now he'd seen it all.

" Well, I suppose I could take her on as an apprentice, BUT she'll have to start small. I don't know what she can do yet, and quite frankly I'm a bit terrified that this entire scheme will become the cause of my death" he said, rubbing his chin with his knuckles.

Arthur merely grinned.

" Niall, I assure you, death will not be a feasible option here," he said.

" Hmph…well, I'll tell you this" at this he turned to Ranya, finger pointed and at the ready " I will not stand for any womanly emotions in this shop. This is man's smithy, and will remain so until the day of my- suddenly imminent- death" he said, seriously. It took every ounce of energy for Ranya not to laugh, especially sine the proximity of his face allowed her to see him go slightly cross eyed as he tried to ignore his offending finger and focus on her.

" Yes, sir" she said.

" Right, well, we'll being tonight. I've got a few of the stable lads bringin' in a load of coal, so be here by sundown," he said sternly. " And don't be late" he added.

As Ranya left the shop, she felt truly content. So much had happened in the past years, she had forgotten what a joy it was to bask in the satisfaction of daily work. As she passed the steps that led to the pass, she hesitated, but continued on. She decided not to go today, for she had a feeling this would not be the day of his return. She did not want to dampen her spirits with what would surely be a deep disappointment and worry.

Ok, so there's another one.

I decided to draw out Tristan's absence a bit more. I'm really trying to make place for Ranya within the fort, because I really want to add to her complexity. I don't enjoy characters that are cut and dry, left and right. She's gone through a lot, her feelings and emotions aren't even entirely recognizable to her yet and…she's a woman. We will explore the latter explanation once Tristan is back. Ladies, I believe you all understand what I am talking about.

Please review, I love them!

Hessa


	10. Forging a new life

Disclaimer: I own nothing except my original character.

**Beautiful Enigma:** Yes, I agree. It is quite an amazing craft, and an unusual one for women of the time, which I hope adds to Ranya's appeal. Anyways, thrilled you liked it. Thanks!

**KnightMaiden: **There can never be too much rambling! Rambling is good for the author, so please continue if you so wish! As for Tristan and Ranya becoming a pair, yes, I do believe that will be the inevitable outcome, so please keep reading! Thank you

**BornWithAFever:** Thank you so much for the kind words! Very encouraging!

**Shameless Chat Noir: **Thank you very much!

**Eshlyn Kar: **Thrilled you like it! Thanks a lot!

Chapter 10: Forging a new life

It was late in the afternoon and the blinding sun cut through the cold, clear air as though trying to warm the earth. Unfortunatly, it would not succeed, as Ranya found out whilst walking from the inn to the smithy. Vanora had said spring would be about a month or so away, though Ranya was not entirely sure what that meant.

As she pushed open the door to the shop, she caught two middle-aged women staring at her from across the frozen dirt road. They quickly looked away, and Ranya went inside. Ever since she had started helping Niall a few days ago, the stares and wary filled gazes had intensified. She tried desperately to follow Tristan's advice and ignore it, but she still felt troubled by their reaction. Again, as his name fluttered through her mind, she wondered how he was out there in the wilderness. A horrible feeling gripped her insides as she pictured him dead by the road, his throat slit and his blood surrounding his lifeless form. Her mind had been drudging up deathly scenarios in the last few days, as he had not yet returned. She thought it odd that the absence of such a silent man could cause such a void. Thankfully, she had a way of escaping such thoughts.

With this in mind, she began shoveling coal into one of the furnaces. She had told Niall she would finish up the arrowheads tonight, so he could stay in his quarters. He did not like the winter much, and who would, at such an age!

She had thrown herself completely into the work, and had thus not been so content in a long time. Indeed, with herself and Niall working on the weapons, things got done much faster. She had discovered that Niall was man most set in his ways, with a head as stubborn as an ox's and a mouth that would put the most crude and most vulgar whore to shame. He swore horribly when he became angry or annoyed. Thankfully though, Ranya had not been at the receiving end of such a blasphemed lashing. Most of the time, he became angry either with himself or with the stable boys. But despite all this, Ranya had seen the way he was when he was mending a blade or retouching the detailed work on a shield. His face became completely calm and held such focus and concentration that Ranya knew at once this had been his one and only calling in life.

The first night she had been at the shop with him, he had asked her to fix the links in a rusty chain mail garb. She had done it without complaint, because she knew this was his way of seeing how she worked, what she was capable of. When she had completed this task, he asked her to reshape the blunt end of an axe blade, which she also did without complaint. He had observed her every movement, and in the end, managed to grumble something about her being 'adequate enough', which she took as a pass.

She was sure that underneath that tough exterior, there was a history, a past, loved ones perhaps.

The knights had accepted the news well enough. After seeing her work, they had agreed that she was indeed well suited for the job. This had relieved her greatly, for she knew most men from this world would not be so quick to accept such an unorthodox situation.

After clearing the air passages through the firepot, she lit the furnace, using the rake to pull the fresh coals near the center, where the flames were slowly growing.

She had found another advantage to her working in the smithy so often: heat. Yes, delightful, blissfully enveloping heat! Even her hands, which due to the harsh weather had become stiff almost all the time, had healed greatly. Her joints were not as stiff and the swelling had completely gone down.

As she pulled the arrows from a brown sack, she heard a commotion outside. Putting down her things, she went to the door and looked out into the road.

There were a few people walking rather fast towards the main gate, past the tavern.

"… been out there so long. Wonder what Arthur asked him to do," said one masculine voice, completely ignoring Ranya's protruding head as he passed the smithy's door, accompanied by a dark haired woman carrying a small child.

" I don't much care ta know, where e's concerned. Twas surely a bloody mission, though, him with his damn bird…" she said.

Ranya watched them disappear around the corner, taking a moment to appreciate what she had just overheard. Surely, they must be talking about Tristan! Quickly closing the shop's heavy wooden door, she ran down the road as fast as her legs (and many layered peasant's dress) could carry her.

Arriving at the main gate, she saw a small crowd gathered together, as the gate had not yet been opened. Looking up to the pass, she saw many of the knights standing there, looking to the horizon.

Headless of whether or not it was appropriate, Ranya ran up the steps, lifting her skirt as she did so. Breathing a little faster now, she came to stand near Dagonet, and looked out.

There was a rider approaching, maybe a few leagues away. Flying above him was a hawk, leading the way to the fort. Without realizing it, she breathed a sigh of relief.

" He is well trained. He always returns," said Dagonet quietly, his eyes never leaving the lone rider approaching the wall. She was silent for a moment, then, almost against her will, her strictly female worries surfaced.

" What happens, when one day, he does not?" she asked.

" Then we will go to him," he said, saluting Tristan as he looked up to them.

Tristan had seen her arrive on the pass, for she was unmistakable. Her long dark hair, flying up into the wind, told him it was not Vanora. He did wonder though, why exactly she was there. All he knew, was that the image of her standing up on that wall, the wind throwing her hair all about her, the fabric of her dress clinging to her legs, as her tanned skin glowed in the last remnant rays of the fading sun, would be burned into his memory for a very long time. Why, he had no idea. He was not a man to be easily impressed by the beauty of a woman. Perhaps it was because of his years of being a scout, or perhaps it was simply in his nature, but he never trusted what was in front of him, on the surface. The few women from the tavern who were not so scared of him that they would offer him their services always had an air of hypocrisy about them, a sort of undecided haughtiness, which annoyed Tristan greatly. But, he being a man, had certain needs that surfaced once in a while, needs that could not always be quelled in battle. It did not happen often, maybe once or twice a month, but in all honesty that was all he needed. These women did not entirely entice him to seek out their company at say…Lancelot's rate.

The foreign woman, however, he seemed to be keeping an image of her in his mind. She was lost, alien to this land, distanced from her probably dead family and had no idea of what her future held. She had been forced to kill, and Tristan knew there was not an ounce of her that had wanted to commit those acts. Had he been forced into such a position, he might have sought revenge upon the unknown enemies set before him, as he had done in every battle. Ranya though, could not, and this he knew for certain.

She would be shunned here, as she saw that night in the tavern. People here had never left these lands; they did not know what lived beyond the shores of this island. He of course, had never been to the desert lands, but he remembered stories he had heard in his youth, about a people so swift in their hunting and so skilled in battle that they had long evaded the cruel grasp of the growing roman empire for many years.

He remembered the first night he had seen her, in his room after the duel. It was in her eyes that he had seen who she was. So completely devoid of any deception and purely giving insight into her pain. For some reason, her vulnerability startled him, rather than seek out pity.

Most of the women he had known had never experienced such torment, and he knew they would never survive should the occasion arise. Ranya did, and it was because of this silent strength of hers that Tristan had an uneasy feeling she would be plaguing his mind in the near future.

" Any trouble with the woads, then?" Arthur asked, as all the knights were assembled around the round table. Tristan looked a little tired, but aside from that, he showed no signs of serious injury.

" There were a few lookouts along the main road heading east, on the borders of northern Deiran, but they never attacked." Tristan answered. He had been gone almost five days, which was much longer than it should have taken him. But there had been so much going on along the main roads that he had been forced to take certain detours to avoid detection.

" So, what is the situation along the merchant roads?" Arthur asked.

" They are heavily worn down, which is unusual for this time of year. The passages during the day remain occasional, but it is the nightly activity that is of concern. I checked three of the four merchant roads, and they were traveled far more during the night than during the day" he said.

" No doubt, they're trying to avoid attracting unwanted attention from their cargo." Said Lancelot.

" The merchants, did they look Roman?" asked Arthur.

" Some yes, but they were traveling with others as well. I could not tell from were they came," answered Tristan.

" Hmm…well good work Tristan. I will send word to Rome about this. For now, go get some rest. You have earned it", Arthur said, clasping Tristan's hand. This man was invaluable to the knights, and Arthur knew this.

" Tristan, will you be joining us for dinner in the hall tonight?", asked Gawain, as the men left the grand room.

" No, I think I will be eating in my room tonight. I've got a few things to take care of," he said, loosening the ties on his leather armband. " I don't suppose Niall would be up to making me some new throwing knives?" he asked. Unfortunately, all his old ones were now imbedded in the chests of the few poor souls who had charged at him early on into his mission.

" Well, Niall won't, but I assure you his new apprentice will", said Lancelot with a grin.

" New apprentice?" asked Tristan. This was odd. Niall was definitely not one to delegate.

" Yes, she has been hard at work since your departure. Quite the skilled blacksmith." Said Gawain.

" She?" asked Tristan, raising an eyebrow.

" Yes, you remember the Lady Ranya?" said Lancelot.

Tristan said nothing for moment, merely registering what he had heard. This was a surprise. So the desert woman had kept busy.

"She any good?" he asked, after a while.

" Very. Niall said her technique is different than the ones used here, but apparently it is one that has long been attributed to her people", said Gawain.

He would have to witness this skill himself then.

Ranya was on her way back to the shop when Vanora stopped her on the way, a young child on her hip and a young girl holding her hand. The light was fading fast, and the chilly air typically associated with winter nights in this country was beginning to set in. Vanora tucked her wool shawl tighter around herself and the baby in her arms.

" Ranya, I wanted to ask you if you could come to see a friend of mine with me tomorrow for some new dresses" she said, trying to pry the fingers of the young girl from her skirts. She was hiding behind her mother, poking the top of her out from Vanora's form.

" Oh, I don't need any, really. The one's you lent me will do just fine", she said. At this, Vanora let out a laugh.

" Come now, that dress is much to big for you. I don't have the shape I used to, thanks to my insatiable lover." At this she flicked her baby's nose lightly. " And you need something that fits you. Besides, winter is still upon us and you need some more warm clothes" she said. That last statement, Ranya could not argue with.

" In my country, a woman who has had as many children as you is revered for it. Vanora, you should not forget the beauty you have found in motherhood," Ranya said.

Vanora smiled at the young woman.

" Do all women from your country speak this wisely?" she asked, still smiling.

Ranya did not know what to say to this. Wisdom had nothing to do with it, really. She supposed she was so used to the idea that it seemed perfectly natural to her.

" Listen, meet me at the tavern tomorrow, and we'll go and see to your dresses, alright?" said Vanora.

" Alright" said Ranya, as Vanora squeezed her arm in farewell.

As they walked away from Ranya, she heard the faint voice of Vanora's young daughter, drifting slowly away.

" Mama, why does she have that black mark on her face?" the little girl said.

" Hush now Briana. If you really want to know, you can ask her yourself next time, instead of hiding behind me like that…" Vanora's fading voice answered.

Turning towards the smithy, Ranya pondered the young girl's reaction to her. She had been apprehensive of course, no doubt because of the misguided murmurings about her. She wondered if all the other children felt the same way towards her. She knew they had never seen anyone like her before, and the marking on her temple did not aid matters. She only hoped that at some point in time, she would be given a chance to show them more. More about herself, more about her people. It might help them understand, but moreover, it might help her heal. Something about self-preservation she supposed. She knew at this point she should still be deep in mourning for her family, her people, which had been ripped away from her so brutally. She had tried to grieve, but how can one grieve when they were not sure who they were anymore. Everything she had known was gone, she had nothing rooting her to her ancestry, to the giant expanse of the desert, which for so long been the womb of her people. She did not know who all the people she killed were, and she knew this would haunt her for the rest of her life. Grief. Did she even possess that right, after all the lives she took?

So lost in though was she that did not even notice there was another person in the room until after she rekindled the fire in the furnace.

He was standing near the far wall, where various weapons hung there, waiting for the occasion when they would be repaired. Everything about him was dark, she thought. Like a shadow, appearing only when it wants to be seen.

She stood there, polish stone in hand, simply looking at him, not really knowing what to do or say, 'Why is he here?' she thought.

" I understand you've been appointed as Niall's apprentice," he said calmly.

" Yes" she said.

" Seems like a lot of work," he said, picking up one of the newly pointed arrows in her 'completed pile'.

" I like the work. It keeps my mind from wandering". She hadn't meant to say that last part, but for some unexplainable, and in turn frustrating, reason she felt he, more than anyone else, would understand that.

Silence.

" I need some new throwing knives," he said, examining the arrow. She was surprised by this at first, but then berated herself. 'Of course he does! Why else would he be here, you fool?' she thought.

" How many?" she asked.

" A dozen or so should do for now" he said, looking at her now. " I brought you the last one, as a model". He took the small throwing knife from his belt and put it on the table. She had a hard time examining it properly, because she actually felt his eyes on her.

" How is your leg?" he asked.

" Better. It does not even hurt me anymore," she said, feeling the rugged metal of the dagger in her hand. " How did your charge go?" she asked, looking him over for any sign of injury.

" Well enough. Your information proved useful. The trade routes are being put to extensive use, so we know someone is not doing their job" he said.

" Do you go out often?" she asked.

" As many times as Arthur need's it" he said, leaning against the post. Usually, he was not inclined to drawn out conversations with people, but he knew Ranya had been spending a lot of time here alone, undoubtedly because of what people were saying about her. He had seen it when she came in, the way she moved around the room, how familiar she was with everything already.

" How is it that you were appointed scout? Were did you learn it all?" she asked. She did not mean to be so inquisitive, but she wanted to know more about this man.

" The men of my family had all been hunters. I simply followed their training, until I was taken by the Romans" he said. Simple and short. That was all he could give her.

She hesitated.

" I wanted to thank you, for what you did that night at Gallus' fort" she said, finally.

" You mean when I beat and humiliated you. I can't very well say your welcome" he said, with a hint of amusement.

" I meant for taking me away from there" she said.

He nodded.

" That night, I had told myself I would fight with all I had. I knew I was going to die, but I wanted to die with some form of dignity. Not because _they_ were watching." She said

_they_ as though the very word brought the nameless faces of the men in the room with them, " but for me. But when I saw that enormous man, I crumbled inside." She snorted at this. " I mean, with his size, he was likely to be clumsy and ill trained, the kind of opponent who uses only his strength. And then you stepped forward, and for some reason, I felt calm for a moment. I thought that if I were to die that night, I would have it be at your hand". His face remained calm, almost nonchalant, but she saw the flicker of surprise in his eyes. " You seemed a noble fighter to me, the way you looked and the way you handled your sword. My father once told me death only brings shame when you cower from it, and I knew I would not cower from you" she said, looking intently at him.

" Your father was a wise man," he said. He could not tell her just how true those words rang for him. Ever since that night when he was taken captive, he had known death would always be around the corner. Some men were afraid to look, but that was because they had never welcomed it, begged for it. Knowing your enemy, that was the key. He had been to hell and back, if that wasn't like death, he did not know what was.

At his words, Ranya seemed to realize what she had been saying.

" I don't know why I am telling you this," she said, looking down at the table.

He realized this was the most she had ever spoken in his presence.

" Let me know when you've finished the knives" he said, turning towards the door, opening and stepping out into the frigid night air, letting a gust of cold into the shop.

Just as she was going to let out a curse in her native language for being such a garrulous little fool, he stepped back inside, his hand on the door.

" For what it's worth, you did fight with dignity. You shouldn't forget that. Be a shame to let them win now," he said, and in the next instant he was gone.

She stared at the door for moment, thinking about what he said. Shaking it off, she started her work. At least she would have something to keep her busy tonight. She might even be able to sleep if she worked late enough. The moans of ecstasy from neighboring rooms were not exactly agreeing with her sleeping habits. She held fervent hope that they would finish their business by the time she got back to the inn.

Feedback appreciated!


	11. Of iron and scars

Disclaimer: I own nothing except my original character.

**plzkthx101 :** Thank you, thank you, thank you! Oh I have been longing to hear that! I completely understand what you mean. I told myself when I set out to write this story that I would remain true to what I call the human form. There are so many stories out there where the character encompasses too much perfection, therefore making him or her completely intangible. I have always believed flaws are essential in writing, because not only does it make the character more believable, it creates a building ground where the character can grow emotionally. Thank you once again for the review!

**BornWithAFever: **I'm glad you like the interaction. There will be much more! Thank you.

**Furibondo: **Thank you so much!

**KnightMaiden: **Thanks for reviewing!

**Cardeia: **Such a perceptive reader you are! It is always wonderful when someone reading your story is able to see the settings and environment of the writing. It is truly a great compliment. I also loved the image of Tristan riding to the fort with his hawk leading the way. I don't know why, but I felt compelled to write it like that, to show the strength of such a solitary man.

Now with the setting of this story, with the imminent decline of the Roman Empire and all, it is important to understand how many people were being exported into strange lands. I wanted Ranya to feel the hostility of the unknown, because essentially, that is what these people are afraid of. There is nothing wrong with that really, it is simply human nature.

Thank you so much for your review. Every single one is a gem! They really help me continue with my writing.

**Eshlyn Kar: **Thanks for the review. Well, she won't be doing an overly intricate job on

them (detail-wise), because, well, that isn't really Tristan's style. She will, however, obsess slightly about the practicality of them. You'll see!

**gryphon55: **Thanks very much!

**Dellis:** I absolutely agree. I really wanted a slow progression for the two of them. It makes a great buildup for future emotional and physical (grrr) confrontations. Thank you for the review. 

**Shameless Chat Noir: **Thank you muy much for the review!

**Erena G.T. Rose: **Glad you like it. I am not all that surprised by your friend's suggestion, since I have been drawing out their relationship. The reason: tension, in all its intricate forms. Trust me, it will be worth it. Thanks again for reading and reviewing.

**Makayla: **Thank you so much! I am glad you like Ranya!

**Randomisation: **Thank you for the review!

Chapter 11: Of iron and scars

" Malva, my love! I see you have at last renounced the ague that is celibacy and have come to find me at last" Lancelot said, trying to sound debonair while he supported a ridiculously heavy door on his shoulder. Most of the knights were helping the stable lads in the barn. With winter almost gone and spring very nearly here, they had few necessary chores to do to prepare for the planting season.

Currently, Lancelot, Bors and Galahad were supporting the twelve-foot tall oak stable door, while Niall and Ranya replaced the hinges.

The strain was quite evident on their faces, which made Lancelot's attempt at wooing poor Malva resemble that of a hopeless lover with a bout of painful constipation. Not something most women found charming.

" The only celibate thing about me, dear knight, is that the likes of you hasn't been anywhere near my bed in two years. All in all, I think I am warming to it, this celibacy" Malva said with a smile, shifting the large basket she was holding in front of her,

While Galahad was plainly trying to suppress his laughter at this jest, Bors threw caution to the wind and let out a loud guffaw, making the door shake as a result.

Niall glared at him.

" Bors, you drop this door, man, and you can mend your own bloody weapons, portly fingers and all!" exclaimed Niall.

" Oh, have a heart old man. A rebuffed Lancelot should always be cause for mirth, aye?" he said, the glint in his eye matching his wide grin.

" Oh, and pray tell? What would a rebuffed Bors be, I wonder? Habitual occurrence?" Lancelot said, which made Bors look at him quickly, as Galahad and the stable boys laughed. Even Ranya grinned at the exchange. These two, always going at it. Watching them always made her smile, forgetting her circumstances.

" All right, you two. Shut it, now. Vanora sent me to bring you your lunch" Malva said, already taking the contents of her basket out. This made the men hasten to finish their work, for they could not leave the door unhinged simply to eat.

After a few moments, the last pin was nailed through the hinge, and all were free to lunch. It was in fact, quite late in the afternoon, since most of the men had been hard at work all day, taking care of this and that. They always had something to do these days.

Speaking of which, Ranya had to get back to the shop very soon if she was to finish Tristan's set of throwing knives by tonight. It had taken her longer than expected, because she had decided to modify them a little. She was not sure what he would think of them, for he struck her as a man who liked things a certain way.

"Niall, if you don't need me any longer, I'll go and finish up in the shop", she said, approaching the feasting men. Niall considered her for moment, looking from the door to her again.

" Aye lass. That'll do," he said.

" Oh, but Ranya, don't you want something to eat?" asked Malva politely.

" Well, I don't really have that much time, but I suppose I could take some bread for the road" she said with a smile to Malva.

Ranya had met Malva when Vanora had brought her to get a few dresses made. Incidentally, Malva was the dressmaker at the fort, although she had not always occupied this position. When she had first arrived at the fort, newly widowed and without money, she had had no choice but to take a job as a tavern wench. Ranya remembered the look on Malva's face when she had told her the story a few days ago. It was not a time she liked to dwell on. Then, two years ago she had been taken on as an apprentice by the seamstress, Brina, and had never served another drink since.

" I see the dress has served you well," said Malva with a grin and nod to Ranya's sleeve, which was slightly singed on the underside.

Ranya flushed a little.

" Oh…er…I am sorry…I didn't…that is, the furnace was-

"Don't you fret dear, what else is a work dress for" Malva said with a laugh. The dress had been made entirely for practical purposes: a deep shade of brown with sleeves that hugged her arms and laces down the front. The material was light enough to let air through, but not so light that she would feel naked with it on.

And yet, Ranya had still managed to singe a bit of the sleeve's seam on a stray bit of braise from the furnace.

She was relieved by Malva's jesting tone, however.

" Thank you for the bread Malva. Have a good evening," said Ranya, turning down the dirt path, in the direction of the smithy.

Thanks to Malva's rather remarkable craft, Ranya was now the proud owner of two work dresses for the smithy, one peasant's dress, a few linen shifts and petticoats and a rather nice looking deep green dress she had no idea she would do with. There was no talking to Vanora and Malva though, who both insisted she have one nice dress to wear.

The clothes were quite different from what she was used to. In the desert, all women wore very light materials because of the heat. Nevertheless, she was immensely grateful for the clothes. Compared to the scraps of cloth she was forced to wear at Gallus' fort, her new clothes were the embodiment of freedom.

Shaking herself from these thoughts as she neared the shop, she focused her mind on the task at hand. She wanted those knives done by tonight.

As she was turning the lock for the smithy door, she felt something hit her shin. Looking down she saw it was a small, perfectly round pebble. She picked it up and looked from the direction it had come.

There, a few feet away from her stood four young boys, all looking at her with expressions varying from anxiousness, suspicion and downright fear.

She supposed they had been playing some game in the street.

" Here you are," she said, holding out her hand with the rock in it.

None of them moved to retrieve it. She noticed most of them were staring at her temple. The mark. She sighed.

" I am not going to hurt you," she said.

One of the boys was brave enough to actually come forward and snatch the pebble from her open palm. They all took off running, leaving a hovering cloud of dust in their wake.

They were still wary of her. Whenever someone would come in the shop to get a tool mended, they always asked to speak with Niall. The only work she had came from the knights.

As she set her tools on the worktable, she tried to stop the onslaught of despair that had been recurring since her arrival here. She thought that perhaps by losing herself in the work would prevent such things occurring, but there were moments were she stood defenseless, unable to put up that barrier.

But the truth was, she was an outcast here. She would likely remain so.

She slammed the hammer she was holding on the table.

" Do not think about it," she said to herself in her native language of Arabic. Tears had threatened to fall from her eyes. She could not think about all this. There was too much pain, too much guilt. She did not know if she would ever be able to stop if she started crying.

Composing herself, she set shoulders resolutely. She had work to do.

Walking down the stone laid road towards the place where Vanora had told her Tristan lived, Ranya was trying to fight the nervousness that kept rising with each step she took. Why was she so bloody nervous? He had asked her to make him knives; she had done so and would be paid for it. A simple business transaction, nothing more.

But then why had she spent the last few days slaving over making the perfect set of throwing knives? Why had she obsessed over them incessantly, constantly trying to improve them? And why in the world was she anxious over the fact that she was going to this man's quarters to deliver said weapons?

She kept telling herself it was because she was worried about his reaction to their new design. And she was, truthfully. But she knew that was not the sole reason. Something about being alone with this man again, made her yearn for something, and that troubled her indeed.

Looking up towards the window on the southeast corner of the fort, Ranya could see a glow emitting from within. He was there. All right, _now _she was nervous.

" Oh, stop it you idiot!" she hissed to herself. This was ridiculous. She would go up there and deliver his order, as would any other self-respecting craftsman.

She clutched the leather holster that currently housed the scout's knives in one hand as she knocked on the door. The corridor in the southeast tower corridor was rather drafty and Ranya could feel the gooseflesh spreading from her forearms to her shoulders. Of course, the draft might not have been the only cause for her condition, but she dwelt on it for only a moment.

The door opened and the tall figure of the silent scout appeared in the doorway…wearing only his breeches.

Ranya stood transfixed for a moment, simply staring at him. He did the same, holding the door open with one arm, although he was clearly waiting for her to say something. Perfectly normal, since _she _was the one who knocked on his door. Finally, she emerged from her trance.

" I…I have your knives" she said, gesturing to the bundle in her arms, all the while blushing furiously.

He quirked an eyebrow, though she did not know if it was in response to her reaction to him, or simply out of interest for the order.

" Come in then" he said, going back inside his quarters, leaving the door open.

She hesitated for a moment, but followed him inside.

His room was quite simple, with a few furnishings here and there and a large feather mattress bed situated against the far wall. It rather reflected it's occupant's personality, she thought. The fire in the hearth was ablaze, casting a warm light on everything in the room. There was something very particular about this room though, and Ranya finally understood why exactly Tristan's room was situated in the southeast tower. He had two windows, one facing the south and the other the east. Being a scout, he would want to keep an eye on the fort's surroundings. Also, she assumed it would be easier for his hawk to find her way back to her master here.

She went over to the table he was currently clearing off and deposited the leather holster. She unbuckled and unrolled it, displaying its contents for the scout. He raised an eyebrow at her, but said nothing. Ranya realized she was wringing her hands together as he observed her work. She had no idea what he thought. None! The man's face displayed no hint whatsoever. 'Damn him and his bloody lack of sensibility!' She thought. As he turned the knives over in his hand to look at them properly, Ranya's gaze wandered to the man himself. When she had seen him in his armor, she had thought him quite an imposing sight. And now, standing tall and proud with his chest glowing from the fire, she thought she would never encounter such an overpowering sight again. She was not afraid of him, which was curious in itself, considering what she had overhead about him since her arrival at the fort. No, she felt intrigue when he was near her. And now here he was, scars and all, and all she wanted was no know about every single one of them so that maybe it might help make him forget. It was a foolish thought, she knew, but it was fervent one nonetheless.

She suddenly remembered something her mother had said to her older sister when she had just turned twelve. Her mother had been unbraiding Dinah's hair, while Ranya was helping her father with the mending of a horse saddle. They had just returned from a binding ceremony and Dinah had asked their mother how a woman was to know if she truly loved a man. Her mother had looked at her husband, the two of them sharing a secretive smile, and had answered: " When a man makes you feel out of place, as though you do not recognize yourself any longer, then he has affected you. If he is able to shake your soul without changing who you are, then he is your equal. And that, Dinah, is where it begins".

Where it begins. For the first time in her life, Ranya recognized what her mother had described. _If he is able to shake your soul…_ Well, he had. Why though? Why him?

Her gazed lingered on a long, clean scar that started at his right shoulder and finished near his elbow, on the outside of his elbow. She could see the muscle and sinew move together as he turned the knife over in his hands. He was a beautifully built man. He was not overly muscular, like some of the brutes she had seen at Gallus' fort, but had lean build complete with suppressed strength. His shoulders were broad and strong and his forearms were sculpted. She could see the lines of muscle on his chest and the powerful strokes of his back. There was marking on his chest, under the bone near his left shoulder. She could not make it out from where she was standing though.

Suddenly, against her will her breath caught in her throat. On his back were long scars, and their ugliness proved this had been no accident. Something had been done to this man. He had other apparent scars, though none so violent as these. These had been inflicted upon him, not procured during battle as she suspected the others were.

Tristan had heard her hitch of breath and looked up to his right, where he saw where her stare was directed, just before she had glanced away from it. He ignored the frustration at having his back exposed for the moment.

" Well, they are well made. Though I wonder why you chose to change the design," he said.

He did not sound angry, Ranya noticed. What she did notice was how he had quickly deflected her attention from his marred back.

" I made the handle lighter, that is why the blade seems different. It will make the impact surer" she explained. She noticed he was tracing the small writing on one side of the blade with his finger.

" I saw these markings on some of your old armor at the smithy. Niall told me they used to be yours, but that you did not use them any longer. I hope you don't mind" she said, a trifle anxiously.

He stood silent a moment.

" No, I do not mind" he said quietly. " You are very skilled in your craft," he said looking at her.

To her embarrassment, Ranya actually blushed.

" Thank you. I…I hope you don't mind my changing them a little. I can make you another set, like the old one if you like," she said.

He studied her for a moment. " No, I don't mind. Though I will have to try them out first", he said.

She nodded.

" Wait for a moment, I'll get your wage" he said, turning towards a chest in the corner.

As he did this, she looked around and noticed there was a bow leaning against the bed. On the bed near it was a long coil of resilient string. He must have been mending it before she came. She went over and picked up the bow, admiring the beauty of it. Now, this particular sort of weaponry, she was not quite so familiar with. She had never actually tried one, and the shape and design of it fascinated her.

" That's a Sarmatian bow. Passed from father to son in my tribe", his voice said behind her.

She turned to look over her shoulder, and saw that he had put on a tunic. 'I shouldn't have stared like I did' she thought.

" Really? I have never used one".

"Never? Surely they must be of some use to the people in your land?", he asked.

" Well, yes they do. But I never had the chance of using one. Amo-I mean my uncle- he said that I should first master the twin sabers", she said with a bit of longing.

" Hmmm. You should come to the practice yard tomorrow afternoon for target practice. No warrior should be without knowledge of the bow in these lands," he said.

" I am no warrior", she said so softly that he barely heard her.

" No? Then how have you survived all these years?" he asked.

She looked at him blankly.

" True, you may not be a born warrior, nor are you a knight or soldier. But you fought for your life and that shows the courage needed to be a warrior" he said, standing close to her now as he took the bow from her. She could feel the heat radiating from his body.

" Come tomorrow. I can show you, if you like" he said.

She hesitated. " Well…alright". He nodded. He placed a small pouch into her hand, and she could hear the metal clinging.

" I should get to my room. If you find any problems with the knives, please let me know", she said and started heading for the door. He followed and held the door open. She turned to him suddenly.

" A friend of mine, from my country, once told me that scars are there only to remind us that the past is real. I…I remembered this only once. When they branded me as a slave. Perhaps he meant it in bitterness, I do not know. But I liked to think, while I was in my cell those first few months, that the scars were a testimony to my existence. They are ugly violent things, but I suppose I tried to find comfort in them. They had pained me, but I was alive" she said, not knowing if he would understand. She felt a pang at remembering Wajdi's words.

He said nothing, but looke into her eyes, as if searching for a source from where all this was coming from. She bowed he head, and left, hoping against hope that what she had said would not encourage nightmarish memories to resurface.

Shutting the door behind her, Tristan leaned on it for moment, replaying her words in his head.

When he had caught her looking at his back, he had fought back his frustration with himself.he hadn't expected her to be on the other side of the door when he opened it. He never liked to expose his back, to anyone. Granted, he might take his tunic off a few times during the summer while helping with the hay, but that was only when the heat was unbearable.

The first night of his capture, they had whipped him. Hard. Forty lashes. He had tried so hard not to pass out from the pain and the fact that he was withholding his screams.

Since then, few had seen the remnants of his torture.

The few women who came to his bed had never seen them either, for he took great care in hiding them.

When he had heard her intake of breath, Tristan was sure he had frightened her. Who wouldn't be horrified at seeing such a thing? But what she had said, before leaving, had shocked him. She did not fear him. Grunting, he pushed himself off of the door and went back to working on his bow, picking up one of the throwing knives on the way. Again, he felt the writing on the blade. She had taken such care in making them. They were perfect, a tesitmony to her skill.

She had been wearing a new dress, he had noticed. She looked out of place in it, awkward even, but beautiful nonetheless. Her skin had glowed in the firelight, the bronze jumping out at him. And those eyes. Those bloody eyes of hers. Piercing, unrelenting.

She was young, he knew, but what she had told him tonight showed wisdom that could only derive from having seen too much of the world. Hells, she was younger than Galahad, and yet she understood the cruelty of the world better than he did. Perhaps, one day, she would find some form of comfort here. Perhaps.

_I wanted this chapter to be about Ranya and Tristan coming together on a different level. I hope I have achieved._

_Please excuse my tardiness in posting this chapter. I hope you'll enjoy it!_

_Hessa_


	12. Unfurling

Disclaimer: I own nothing except my original character.

_I am terribly sorry about the time it took for me to post this. I had some horrible computer problems but worry not dear readers; I have triumphed over the accursed machine! How did I do it you ask? Well, I did what any other valiant warrior would have done in such a circumstance… I got a better one! _

**All: **A review I received brought to my attention the fact that perhaps some of you were confused as to when Tristan obtained the scars on his back. He got them during his capture by Roman rebels, the same captivity I mentioned in an earlier chapter. It was not from another incident. I just wanted to clarify in case some of you were confused.

Well, it is very unfortunate that I can no longer address all you great reviewers in my updates, but I would like to take the moment to thank you all for your support and dearly hope to read more of your encouraging words in the future!

Chapter 12: 

Hurrying down the busy main street of the fort, Ranya was mentally cursing her lateness. It was presently near late afternoon and she knew she would be horribly late for the archery lessons she had told Tristan she would attend.

Hard as she might, she could hardly be held solely accountable for her tardiness. A few of the women who oversaw the crops during the season had arrived early at the smithy for an urgent errand. Just as she was about to leave her quarters for her lesson, one of the workmen arrived at her door, with the message that Niall required her assistance in the smithy immediately. The early crops were ready for picking and the women needed to have the scythes sharpened.

And thus, this was the reason for her now hurrying down the way, all the while trying not to trip over the skirts of her brown work dress.

Things would not seem so grave if she had slept at all the night before. Ranya had discovered, rather to her bewilderment, that the noises she had been hearing during the night were not at all coincidental. Apparently, the inn were she stayed housed quite a few of the tavern wenches from the fort. Business had been good last night.

She still felt her face flame at exactly what had happened late last night.

She had been trying to fall asleep and to her great annoyance, the sounds coming from her neighbor's chambers were becoming increasingly loud. When she could stand it no longer, she got out of bed and walked out of her room to the neighboring door, with the intent of letting them know that some people were indeed trying to sleep. She knocked.

Once. Twice.

Nothing. It seemed that both parties were very much engaged in their carnal activities and were deaf to all else.

Deciding that there was no possible way she would ever fall asleep with this racket, she boldly opened the door, her mind prepared to receive whatever image she was bound to uncover.

Unfortunately, nothing could have prepared her for the sight of a very naked Lancelot and his golden haired consort for the evening in a rather suggestive position.

Ranya had simply stood frozen for a moment, not knowing what to do in light of this. Then, she practically ran out of the room, too embarrassed to explain herself.

Lancelot followed of course, as he and the woman in question had stopped their activities because of the interruption. He had called her name as he followed her rapidly down the corridor, all the while tying the laces on his quickly recovered breeches.

"Ranya! Stop for a moment!" he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. She turned, her face flaming.

"Lancelot, I-I am sorry, I only went in to ask for…well…it was rather loud and it's only that, well I was trying to sleep and…" she drifted off. The look on his face was that of major embarrassment and discomfort. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

"I apologize. Truly, I had no idea we were that…well, I am sorry" he said, rather awkwardly. It was obvious that the both of them would rather be anywhere than standing in that stone hallway.

In the end, she had forgone the comfort of her room and opted instead for the rather lumpy discomfort of a makeshift straw bedding in the smithy, feeling it was better not to take any chances.

She found no sleep in the drafty stone walled shop and when she returned to her room in the light of the misty dawn to change her attire, she sent the bed a longing stare that bordered on depravity.

And now, after an exhausting morning and early afternoon of mending and sharpening tools for the women, she made her way as quickly as possible, feeling impossibly tired and wondering exactly how she was going to manage _archery_ of all things!

When she arrived at the practice yard, she saw that Tristan was already there, which was no surprise. He was pulling a few arrows out of the target, his back to her. She was stricken once again by the mere image of him. The day's light had changed to a darker gold, bronze almost, as it often does in late afternoons on a clear day. There was such brightness to the air that she could only see his silhouette, but it was enough.

She stepped forward until she reached the place she assumed was where one stood to shoot the bow. Already, she felt the small knots of apprehension forming in her stomach. Not because of the actual archery, but more because of the person who would be her teacher. She had never shied away from a challenge, which was good given her natural curiosity for new things. But this Tristan…She found that whenever she was near him she was engulfed in such intensity that she could not even describe it to herself.

He saw her standing there, looking rather out of place. 'When is she not', he thought to himself. Holding the arrows in the one hand, he walked back to where she stood.

"Didn't think you would come," he said, placing the arrows in the quiver.

"Something came up at the shop, and it took longer than we thought" she said rather lamely.

He looked up towards the sky for a moment.

"No matter, the light is still good," he said. He took a moment to really examine her, and noticed that her eyes looked a bit heavy and there were slight circles around them. She was tired. He wondered whether all the work she was doing in that smithy was becoming too much for her. She reminded him of an estranged animal. He often was in the company of wild animals on his scouting missions, which allowed for some rather astute observations on his part.

Looking at her now, he thought of a wolf he had once seen in one of his earlier scouting missions. It had wandered through the wild forest aimlessly, without any sort of purpose in its step. He thought it odd at the time, for such a ruthless predator to lose his way simply because it had gone astray from its clan.

Now though, he was beginning to understand.

"Here, you'll need to use this arm guard" he said, motioning for her to hold out her arm. When she did so, he placed the arm guard around her forearm and began lacing up the leather strings. As he did so, she felt his fingertips brush the inside of her wrist and felt an increasingly familiar warmth pass over her face.

Or perhaps it was only the heat of the day…

He began by teaching her the proper stance, which he was glad to see, was an easy task for her. Four years of combat with a set of blades would do that.

For Ranya, the entire affair was rather disconcerting. Tristan would tell how to place her arms and feet, but would limit his use of words to the strict minimum. She did not mind this so much, because his directions were always to the point without any words wasted in the process. The silence was also helping her focus, which she knew would be essential if she were to master the bow appropriately.

What did cause her some disturbance was the fact that after he had initially placed her in the proper stance, he would circle around her, observing her movements. She tried to ignore the effect this pointed scrutiny was having on her person, but she failed miserably in the attempt.

The first time she tried to pull back the string, she could only pull it as far as her elbow, which was rather a disappointment to her.

"Don't worry about that. Wouldn't expect you to pull it back all the way the first time" he said.

At this, Ranya looked at him with a mixture of confusion and anger on her face, letting her pride win over reason.

"You've lost some of your strength because of when you were healing" he explained, upon seeing her face.

Nodding her understanding, she tried again a few times, each proving more successful than the last.

When finally, he began showing her how to actually release an arrow, Ranya understood why none of the big, burly men used bows when she lived with her uncle. It was a weapon that required grace and agility above all other things; attributes that bigger statures simply couldn't accommodate.

While she fired arrows from her bow (arrows that understandably did not go very far from a distance point of view), Tristan stood a few feet behind her, observing and occasionally he moved from side to side behind her, watching every movement.

He would sometimes remind her of a few things she was not doing correctly, like "Follow through" or "Lower your elbow".

Most of the time though, he would simply walk towards her and correct these mistakes himself, without saying a word.

They had been there nearly an hour now, and Ranya was trying to get her body in alignment, as Tristan had instructed. The slowly fading sun was casting a fiery glow on the field and she could feel its singular warmth through the material of her dress. It had been a hot day, and the air still held its residual heat.

Wiping her damp forehead with the back of her hand, Ranya wished she could have worn a simple sleeveless shift under her red bodice like most of the women did.

Unfortunately, most of the women at the fort did not have a slave brand on their shoulder that needed covering.

She was thankful for the fact that she had undone a few of the laces on the front of her bodice on her way to the archery fields. At least she did not feel too stifled.

She released the arrow and it promptly skidded over the softly swaying blades of grass.

Not even close.

She released the breath she had been withholding brusquely, letting the arm that held the bow fall.

Tristan, having heard this sound of doubtless frustration, turned to look at her from where he was standing next to her.

She stared back.

"It just seems so…pointless" she said, looking back towards the target which was still whole, devoid of any destructive arrows.

"It won't once you hit the target" he said, moving towards her. "You need to focus on the target, not your movements".

"How is that possible? To achieve one I need to achieve the other" she said despairingly.

"Prepare your position" he said simply.

Once she did this, he came to stand on her right to align the bow in her arms with her body. He pulled her shoulders back with his hands, running one hand down the arm that held the bowstring and stopping at the elbow to adjust her angle, while the other hand traversed down her back and stopping on her lower back, making sure her posture was straight. He then set his hands on her hips, turning them slightly to the right.

Ranya forced her breathing to be steady, which new was essential when using the bow. The task was not an easy one though.

The air around them was so charged that they could not longer hear the goings on from the main road.

In the dim recesses of her mind, Ranya thought it felt like being underwater, where the rest of the world is drowned out by the stillness of the powerful and heavy waters.

To his credit, Tristan did not let it be known that he had noticed the change in her breathing or the fact that her face was beguilingly flushed.

Partly because he himself was attempting to ignore the effect this woman was having on his mind.

He had never been a lustful man, save in battle. When his lust could not be quelled by blood and gore well… he was not a rich man but he could spare a few coins once in a while.

Now though, he knew he had indulged himself more than he normally would. While he had adjusted her aim, his gaze lingered on the rise and fall of her chest as she purposefully looked towards the target.

The loosened laces of her bodice presented a rather enticing view of the top of her breasts.

During the weeks since her arrival, she had regained not only her health but her form as well. He had noticed this from afar of course, but the change is always more startling when one has the opportunity to study it from very close.

The worst part of it was that she remained completely oblivious to what she was slowly doing to him, to what she did to any man really. Since her arrival at the fort, he had noticed the looks she would sometimes received from the passing men and soldiers. He would not call her naïve in that respect, for she had seen too much of the world for that.

Btu she had the habit of seeking out a certain stillness in her character, which he assumed was her way of trying to remain unnoticed.

What she did not realize was that most men saw that as mystery, something to be discovered.

For a woman who had grown up with men, she seemed to be unaware of the interaction that usually occurred between men and women.

He stepped around her, placing himself directly in front of her. He placed his finger under her chin, lifting it a bit so that her gaze was leveled with the target.

"Don't think. Feel your strength through the movement and release it" he said evenly.

Dark eyes met dark eyes.

It was fleeting, but the air stopped moving, surging in the stillness like liquid fire.

Both felt it. Neither spoke.

And then, the notch of an arrow, the small creaking of stretching string and the sharp, undeniable twang that always follows.

Ranya looked on to see the arrow embed itself forcefully into the outer ring of the target.

It was not perfect, but she hit it.

She looked at Tristan, and he nodded slightly.

"Good. You'll do well with practice" he said. "For now, we'd best get those arrows back in the armory".

Ranya was bit nonplussed by this.

"But…now that I can hit the target, shouldn't I practice some more?" she asked.

"Well, for one, the light is fading and given your newfound ability, you might actually shoot someone by accident".

He said this with a serious expression but Ranya thought she saw a glimpse of amusement in his face, which made her smile a little despite the jest made at her expense.

"And secondly, you'll be sore enough as it is tomorrow, so there's no need to push it" he said, bending over to retrieve his own quiver.

Ranya went to where the target was, picking up the arrows that had fallen short along the way.

When she had them all in the quiver, she turned and walked back towards the fence where she saw three of the knights had stopped to converse with Tristan.

"So Ranya, how is it coming along? Tristan had just told us of your interest in archery" said Gawain with a pleasant countenance.

"Well, let us say I will not be using it as my weapon of choice any time soon" she replied with a smile.

"You shouldn't worry, the first time I fired a bow the shot was so miserable that I missed the target by at least five paces" he said.

"And if you watch him in battle, you'll notice nothing much has changed" said Dagonet calmly, making Ranya laugh. Usually quiet and reserved, he occasionally would say something in a dry manner that would make everyone laugh.

And then, for the first time, Ranya noticed that the third knight in their presence was none other than Lancelot.

She froze for a moment, the embarrassing memories from the night before flooding her mind. He looked at her a bit awkwardly as well, which did not pass unnoticed by the others.

"We were just going to the tavern to take our supper Ranya, would you like to join us?" asked Dagonet.

She floundered for a moment, not wanting to seem too obvious. It seemed her embarrassment made her want flee the scene at any cost.

"Er, no, that's alright, I have…I have a few things I need to see to before I eat" she was already backing away towards the opening in the fence.

"You all enjoy your evening and Tristan…thank you for your patience today" she said, turning and striding purposefully from the archery fields.

"What was that all about?" asked Gawain, as all but Lancelot looked on towards the retreating figure of the young woman.

Upon seeing the discomfort on his face, Tristan asked what the matter was.

"Well, you see last night…

And he proceeded to tell them of the events of the previous night, an explanation that ended with the prompt explosion of Gawain's laughter.

"By the gods Lancelot, you really know how to make a strong impression on a woman!" said Gawain, mirthfully wiping tears from the corner of his eyes.

"I think _lasting_ impression is more appropriate in this case" said Dagonet with a chuckle.

"Listen, I didn't intend for it to happen. The lass wandered in and-

"Probably because you made it impossible for her to sleep" Tristan said dryly.

Lancelot sighed. He already felt quite rotten about the whole ordeal.

"Anyways, after that she left the inn. She had said something about the smithy" he said.

"Alright, let's get going before he tells us another harrowing tale. And Lancelot, to remedy your problem, I think the only solution is to apologize to her again. In private" said Gawain as the men made their way from the archery field and toward the tavern.

It was late and the night air was quite crisp, which meant that the night would be a cold one. Tristan could tell by the wind that it would rain soon. A good sign for the crops, since they had been having a bit of a dry spell in recent days.

There were few people on the road at this hour, a stable boy doing some last minute chores and few drunken men ambling down the dirt path singing some ridiculous folk song.

Tristan had decided to stop by the smithy before he retired to his quarters for the night, since he was in dire need of a whetstone for his sword. He knew Niall kept a small stock of them in his shop.

Stepping inside the shop, Tristan thought upon the night's events. Arthur had gathered all the knights at supper to discuss some roman business. The information Tristan had reported to Arthur upon his return had apparently made an impact in Rome.

Nothing was official yet, but they all knew they would be getting their orders to go out again soon.

The fires had been out in the furnaces, so that the only source of light was that of the moon through the pallets on the walls and the barely discernable glow of the dying embers.

He took a whetstone from a wooden box on one of the shelves and stored it in his pocket.

Just as he was about to leave, he caught sight of something that normally should not have been there at that time of the night.

A woman.

A foreign woman to be exact.

Tristan approached the sleeping figure and took in the sight of her small straw bedding and the pathetic woolen piece of cloth she was using as a blanket.

Was her embarrassment in regards to the incident with Lancelot that severe?

For some reason, he felt compelled to believe there was another reason why she had taken to the smithy for her sleeping arrangements.

He crouched down to her level to get a closer look. She still wore the clothes she had on during the day.

He knew it would be a cold night and that a storm was brewing far off in the distance. The blacksmith's shop was sturdy enough, but it was not built to provide comfort while one slept. Its architecture was of a rather rudimentary nature, which meant that it got cold, wet and drafty at night.

Deciding it would be rather foolish to leave her here since she had recently recovered her health and if she stayed there she would be prone to falling ill again, he gently lifted her up in his arms and made his way out of the smithy.

He knew she would get no sleep in her room, since he was aware of the sort of inhabitants that resided there. He found it odd that Arthur had placed her there, but then again it may have been simple inattention, since his commander was under a good deal of pressure lately.

Once in his quarters, he placed Ranya upon his bed and went to put away his over tunic. The fire was dim, but still provided a bit of warmth.

He pulled his chair up near the bed but angled so that he had enough light to work. He pulled the first arrow from his quiver and set to work on fletching it.

He would sleep there tonight, since he needed little rest. Besides, he had slept on worse.

It was obvious that Ranya was in dire need of rest, and for some inexplicable reason, Tristan was concerned. This was the reason why he had brought her to his room, where he knew she could sleep undisturbed.

Well, almost.

It also gave him an opportunity to observe her. It was odd to think, but he had never actually seen a woman sleep before.

Whenever a woman came to his room, it was for one reason and once it was over she would leave. It was a mutual agreement on both parties.

He stopped his work and looked at Ranya's sleeping face. In all honesty, he was entranced.

Entranced because she had wormed her way into his world without meaning to, and entranced because he slowly and steadily found that he actually gave a damn.

_Very nervous about this chapter…_

_Please review._


	13. Discovering the Past

Disclaimer: I own nothing except my original character.

_I apologize for the time it took to update. A close cousin of mine was diagnosed with Leukemia and as he was born with autism as well, it has been rather trying on all of us. But good news! He is doing great and is responding wonderfully to chemo. Things are looking very good for him, so we are all very relieved!_

_I want to thank all of my reviewers! You guys have helped a lot!_

Chapter 13:

The morning was clear, with only a few clouds dispersed in the sky. Evidence of the night's stormy temperament.

The soft dripping of rainwater could be occasionally heard as it fell from the roofs and stone.

This was the sound that greeted her into the waking world. The water dripping from the edges of the stone window ledge, the growing sounds from the market being set up, the soft cry of a hawk.

As her eyes fluttered open, Ranya found that she could not remember the last time she had slept so soundly. Her mind felt pleasantly numb from her drowsy state and she wished she could stay in this languid state forever.

Suddenly, her mind registered that something was not right.

The cry of a hawk? Since when did hawks circle the morning skies in these parts, especially so near the lower grounds of the forge?

Lifting her head from the feather stuffed mattress she lay on, she slowly looked around at what should have been the still, undisturbed surroundings of the forge. Squinting her eyes to see through the haze of bright morning light, she perceived a room of modest décor and proportions, with two windows, one facing south and the other facing east.

Confusion filled her sleep-muddled mind, rather than the frantic state one would expect in such a circumstance. How in the world had she ended up here, in Tristan's room, of all places? She vividly remembered laying her head down on the linen covered straw and feeling the scratching of her skin against the few rebel pieces of straw through the covering.

Looking down, she saw that she as wearing the same dress she had worn the previous day. This couldn't really be a dream then.

Had Tristan brought her here? And if so, why?

The man in question was nowhere to be seen. 'Typical' she thought. He truly was the elusive male!

Slowly rising from the bedding, Ranya took a moment to stretch out her back. She really had slept wonderfully. For a fleeting moment, she actually did not care how she had gotten into this bed, she was simply grateful for it.

Rearranging the covers and her dress into a somewhat presentable state, Ranya decided that after getting something into her stomach to quell the rumblings emanating from it she would find Tristan and hopefully gain some sort of explanation. She was not angry but rather perplexed as to how and why she had woken up in his room.

She had her uncle to thank for such a character trait. After her parents and sister had passed and Ranya had gone to live with her uncle, she had been such an impatient child. If she could not solve a problem or understand something immediately, she became so frustrated with herself. She knew now that it was because she was constantly trying to prove herself in the new world of men she found herself in. But when she was younger, she had no patience at all. One morning, her uncle had sat her down and explained the craftsman's philosophy. He had been calm and direct with her, as if she had been a grown woman. That had made her feel important, grown up almost and she had listened to everything he had to say with rapt attention. He always was a very smart man, her uncle.

" Life will not always move the way you want it to Ranya, but that is how the gods have meant it to be. They are wise in this, for we have but one life and for this purpose you must cherish the passing of your own" he had said to her.

How very right he was.

00000000

She found him in the enclosure just outside the smaller barn, mostly used for storing hay and supplies. He, Gawain, Dagonet and Bors were helping with the storing of the hay. Once in a while, a small figure would zoom by erratically holding some form of a field tool. A few from the Bors brood had apparently decided that the best way to spend the day was to run amuck amongst the working men, much to the regret of the latter group.

It was an impossibly humid day, which made Ranya curse at the thickness of her hair. She had tied it back, but there was no way around the fact that a few stray strands stuck to the back of her neck quite uncomfortably. Heat she was used to, this she was not. The desert was not the most humid of places, after all.

She had decided to don her short-sleeved chemise under the cream and light blue of her bodice and skirt. The sleeves were not so short as to leave her brand uncovered, a fact for which she was grateful.

The men had taken off their tunics in light of the stifling air. All except for Tristan. Since seeing his scars, Ranya had wondered if anyone at the fort had ever seen them. She strongly doubted it, for it was plainly obvious to her that he was a man who valued his privacy. Instead, he had rolled up the sleeves of his brown linen tunic past his elbows.

She smiled as one of Bors' sons walked over to his father, pitchfork in hand. In imitation of the knights, he had taken off his tunic as well, displaying his lanky silhouette to all, as did a few other boys. Clearly, these men were having quite a considerable impact on the fort's youth.

" Good morning Ranya!" came Gawain's jovial greeting. Being a fair-haired man, the redness of the sun and the hard work was bit more pronounced on his equally fair skin. All in all, the men presented quite a formidable sight, with glistening arms and backs, chests heaving with effort and hard muscle rippling under the radiant sun. Spotting a few women leaning over the fence on the other side of the paddock, herb baskets laying forgotten on the ground, Ranya knew she was not the only one to have noticed.

" Good morning Gawain. I trust you are well this morning?" she asked, a bit concerned at such overt sun exposure on his part. With his complexion, she had a feeling he would be feeling the consequences later tonight.

" Oh yes, a bit hay-weary as you can see" he said with a smile as he wiped the back of his neck.

" I can see that indeed" she responded with a polite smile.

" A fine day today. You must be used to such hot days yourself, aye?" he asked.

" Hot yes, but never so wet. It feels like being in a dye shed."

" That it does, though I am thoroughly glad to do without the strong smell of piss. We've enough of it with Bors as it is!" he said laughing, making her laugh as well.

" Oh and I suppose ye walk round smellin like daisies, do ye? Well you've a mighty high opinion of yer personal hygiene lad, I'll tell ye!" said Bors as he hoisted a stack of hay onto his shoulder.

" It's not really his fault Gawain. The man does have eleven children in his home and the younger ones haven't been weaned yet. They tend to leave things rather soiled, you know," said Dagonet, loyally coming to the aid of his long time friend. He smiled and acknowledged Ranya's presence with a small nod.

" Too right you are about that," Gawain mumbled. " I swear, he's spawning to raise his own army," he added to Ranya in a conspired tone.

"What brings you here lass? I know you're not from this land, but I can assure you stacking hay is not the most fascinating of chores to do, let alone watch" said Dagonet, darting a glance at the women by the fence. Being the modest man he was, he clearly could not fathom what could be so entertaining in their work.

" I, ah, I came for a word with Tristan. If he has time," she responded.

" Oh, we'll be done presently. Only a few more left. I'll let him know," he said.

Thanking him, she settled her elbows on the fence, surveying the scene before her. She was not alone long though.

Turning to look to her left, she saw two young boys eyeing her with a tentative gaze, permeated with the all too familiar apprehension.

She gave them a small smile, not sure which way to go with them. The children at the fort seemed to think she was some kind of faerie from a strange land. Well, they had part of it right at least.

Finally, with the help of thorough nudging from his neighbor, the older of the two – twelve maybe? - made his brave attempt.

" Old man Rabbie says as how your people dinna drink any water because it turns their innards into sand," he said rather quickly.

Well, she certainly had never heard that one before.

" Does he then?" she said, trying to suppress her grin.

" He does. And we want to know is it true?" he asked eagerly. Boys of such an age loved morbid stories, and these two were no exception. 'Not just boys' she thought dryly, thinking of old Rabbie.

" No, it is not true" she answered. Demonstrating only minimal disappointment at not having a living, breathing sand demon at their fort, they seemed contented enough.

" I did think him a bit daft for sayin so, seeing as how he never drinks any water himself. Ma says it's a wonder he can still dream up such nonsense, what with his belly full of ale everyday" the older boy said.

" Oh, who would your mother be then?" she asked.

" Oh, she works at the tavern during the day" he said.

" You're one of Bors?" He nodded, as did the other boy, who had yet to utter a single word. She could see it now: the strong nose and plane of forehead, but the eyes were clearly Vanora's.

And so it was that Ranya and the two boys – the elder of the two she found was named Gilly and the other was peculiarly nameless- had found some sort of peaceful understanding. They asked of her country and people, and she asked of their life within a soldiering fort.

00000000

He had seen her of course. He also knew she was here to see him. He wondered if she was angry at waking up in a strange room. He certainly wouldn't fault her for that.

It had been a long morning, the work slow and heavy. He was glad it was over. He didn't mind helping out with such things, though he usually wanted it over quickly.

" We're to meet with Arthur for supper tonight Tristan, don't forget" said Bors as he walked past him, heading out of the pen.

Of course he hadn't forgotten. Sometimes he wondered if Bors even knew he was a scout.

Approaching her, he saw that she was conversing with Bors' two eldest sons.

" Oh, sir Tristan!" Gilly exclaimed, a bit startled by his appearance. Tristan had always thought him to be a rather excitable boy. He also had a tendency of calling him sir. Tristan did not know why, it wasn't as though he was of any special status, but then again he addressed most of the knights this way. Except Dagonet and Bors of course.

"We were wondering as maybe you'd let us come to the practice yard with you today. Da said he'd take us, but he's a rubbish shot and I dinna think it would be good for me to have his habit, if I'm to be a knight" he said, squaring his shoulders a bit at the end.

His brother uttered a snort that clearly demonstrated his opinion in the matter.

" You, a knight! You canna even hold a sword steady, let alone a bow!" the young one said.

" Steadier than you, ye great clot head!" Gilly said, redness spreading to his cheeks.

" Alright, you can come. But don't be late, eh" said Tristan, putting an end to the argument.

Bidding goodbye to Ranya, they left in search of further mischief.

" I trust you slept well," Tristan said, carefully concealing his mirth. She sensed it though.

His skin glistened from the hard work and it was a shade darker than usual because of the sun.

"I did actually. Though I do wonder how, or more precisely why I awoke where I did," she said curiously.

So she wasn't angry. A very self-composed woman she was, he thought.

"Lancelot" he said simply. Understanding shone on her face, with the undertone of a blush fighting to emerge.

"Oh…er…thank you, I suppose," she said, slightly embarrassed and hating it.

The corner of his mouth twitched slightly.

" Oh, but, where did you sleep?" she said, suddenly thinking of it.

He shook his head, dismissing her concern.

" Doesn't matter. You were tired," he said.

" It was probably just the strain from the archery. I haven't really used my arm strength that way since…" she trailed off, not wanting to got there.

He lifted an eyebrow. He personally didn't think her fatigue was solely caused by the previous day's events. She'd been working herself to the bone the past few days, burying herself in the work at the forge. Dagonet had voiced his concern a few days before. They all knew what she was doing and they also knew that the longer she continued, the more the pain would worsen. The knights knew all about the sting of grief, and they also knew the havoc it could wreak on their sanity.

" I have to get back, but thank you for…what you did" she said, deciding it was time leave upon seeing his skeptical look.

He nodded his farewell.

0000000

" Well, well, I see you've made time for me today. Aren't I the lucky man?" said a very disgruntled Niall, who had fixed her with his well-known scowl and raised eyebrows the minute she walked into the smithy.

" You said I didn't have to come in this morning, Niall," she said patiently.

He took a moment to remember.

"Hmmphmm" he said. Ranya took that sound as his resignation that he did in fact tell her such a thing, much to his dismay. She was amazed at how often he uttered that sound, in any situation.

" Well, I need you to replace some of the plates inside Gawain's brigandine. He left it a few moments ago".

As she set to work, she did not notice Niall's gaze rest upon her. In the time he had known the young woman, he had grown accustomed to her presence in his shop. In all honesty, he did not mind it at all. She was pleasant and eager to learn. She had demonstrated a wide base of knowledge on the matter already, but there were weapons from this land that she had never encountered. He had shown her various new techniques and he had been amazed at how enthusiastic she was as an apprentice. She'd been at the fort, and in his life, for only a few months now, but when he watched her work, as he did now, he felt a surge of unexpected pride.

She seldom spoke of her previous life, or the one before that with her people, but he saw the pain in her face, when she thought no one was looking. So young, he thought, to be estranged from her rightful world.

The main door to the shop opened, revealing the outline of Lancelot. Ranya paused in her work and looked up. Her movements stilled almost immediately. The awkwardness between herself and Lancelot was still rather evident.

Niall noticed it immediately and, scowl plastered on his face, he made his way towards the back room of the smithy to give them some privacy. Though not before he sent Lancelot one last cold glare that said "don't bugger it anymore than you already have".

"How do you fare, Ranya?" he asked after clearing his throat.

" I'm well, and you?" she asked back, a little stiffly. 'Oh, this is ridiculous' she thought.

" I'm sorry-

" I shouldn't-" they both said at the same time and laughed when their comments collided.

" Ranya, I apologize. I was not aware you were staying in the next room and had I known, things would have been less…well, it would have been different" he said earnestly. He cared what this woman thought of him and he did not want to strain their relationship when it had barely begun.

"Lancelot, it's alright. It was not my place to barge in like I did. I was simply tired and not thinking right" she said softly.

" And I was not helping matters. I wish for you to think of me as a friend and not some lust crazed fool who cannot control himself" he said with a grin.

She smiled.

"I do not think that"

" Well, good. I have spoken with Arthur and we have both agreed it is not suitable for you to be staying in such an establishment. Since you are providing the fort a valuable service, Arthur said you should have a place in the women's quarters inside the fort. Malva has room in her quarters and she said you could stay with her " he said.

"Oh, that's wonderful!" she said and meant it. Ranya thought Malva was a very amiable woman and knew she would get along well with her.

" Good, I'm glad" he said smiling. After the unbearable awkwardness they had grown accustomed to, this newfound peace between them was wonderful.

" So how are things with Niall working out?" he asked, picking up a knife and turning it over in observation.

" Well, we've been rather busy of late. Niall doesn't like to admit it, but he gets weary easily. I try to take more of the workload, but you know how he is" she said.

"Aye, unfortunately I do. I have never met a more stubborn man, and I come from a long line of them!" he said, and she laughed.

They continued their casual conversation as though nothing had ever happened. To both, it seemed like the beginning of a great friendship.

000000

Supper that night was a very ordinary affair. A few of the nights had assembled at the tavern and were discussing with the various tradesmen who had come for their meals.

Ranya sat with Malva and another woman she met a few days before. Her name was Cille and she was younger than Ranya by two years. Her father was old soul of man who had dedicated his entire life to the sea. However, the life of a fisherman was not easy and it had taken its toll on him through the years. The loss of his ability to partake in his livelihood had forced him to move to the wall with his daughter a few years ago. Cille's mother died in childbirth. Now, she worked as a weaver to support her father and herself. She sold many of her products at the market, but she also worked alongside Malva on occasion.

" Oh my, Ranya, what happened to your hand?" asked Cille, making Ranya look down at her left hand.

" Hot coal. It'll heal in a few days," she said, bringing a piece of warm bread to her mouth.

" I still don't know how you can work all day in that stifling smithy in such heat. It must be awful!" said Malva.

This made Ranya chuckle. Her vocation was cause of many mixed opinions, from concern to confusion to anxiety. Even though she was now in a new place, she was not unused to this. It had always been the subject of many conversations in her country, especially amongst the women.

" Heat is good Malva. I could never get too much of it" she responded.

"Hmm. Well, _I_ could bloody well do without it," she said.

Ranya looked towards the knight's table and scanned the faces. Tristan was not amongst them. She had gotten into the habit of looking for his face wherever she went. It was not even a conscious thing, but she found comfort in his presence. It was startling, the magnetism that she felt when she was with him. She truly was captivated.

" Looking for someone?" Cille asked quietly. Cille was a very quiet person by nature and her shyness was sometimes so acute that she would simply say nothing at all.

"Hm? Oh. Er, yes well, I thought Tristan would be here. I wanted to ask whether his daggers were to his liking," she said. It was half true.

Cille and Malva exchanged looks, which Ranya noticed. She looked at them both inquiringly.

"Moira saw you with Tristan the other night. She said he was carrying you to his quarters" said Malva, with a nod towards the other end of the tavern where a few of the wenches had gathered in preparations for the night's work. Moira was a bit older than Vanora, and although she was still appealing, her looks were not what they once where. Selling her body night after night had taken its toll and it was beginning to show.

" Did she?" Ranya said.

" Now, I'm not inclined to believe everything I hear, especially when the source is someone like Moira. But I was curious aye?" she said.

Ranya proceeded to explain what had occurred. Of course, Malva was aware of the situation at the inn, since she had been informed that Ranya would be living in the women's quarters with her. She had been delighted at the news when Ranya told her earlier.

" Ranya, please tread carefully. Tristan, he isn't your typical man. There is a reason why he scouts alone, aye?" said Malva, after hearing the story.

Ranya said nothing. Why did everyone have this mysterious opinion of him?

" Anyways, if you do hear anything…unseemly about it all, pay it no mind. Gossip spreads like wildfire here," said Malva.

"Unseemly? What do you mean?" asked Ranya.

" I mean, Moira is a bitter old fool of a whore who see's another woman to compete with. Her looks are fading, and the only way she can cling to her men is by insulting other women's reputations. She believes she has some kind of right to the knights because she was their favorite wench when they arrived. And she is the biggest bloody gossip this side of the wall" she said, with a look towards the flaxen haired woman.

Ranya only nodded slowly and looked towards the table Moira and the other girls had convened around. She'd seen the woman around the market and although they had never spoken, Ranya had often seen her glare at her. Ranya had just passed it off as the same superstitious wariness that ran rampant among the others, but she knew now that there was more to the looks Moira gave her.

As she resumed finishing her supper, Ranya could not help but wonder if Tristan had indeed ever taken Moira to his bed. While dwelling on this, she could not help the jealous fire that had erupted deep within her.

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The night was eerily calm; with only the occasional breeze disrupting it's still tranquility. Then again, the air always seemed eerie when one stood in the middle of a cemetery.

Ranya needed some time alone, so she told Cille and Malva she would forgo spending the rest of the evening with them at the tavern.

She was standing near the grave of an unknown knight. Unknown to her that is. There was a shield bearing the knight's allegiance lying on top of the mound. She had no idea who he was or how he had died, but she found herself weeping. The tears fell from her dark eyes, landing invisible onto the dark ground.

Had her uncle and her cousins been given a grave? Or had they been simply discarded, deemed as waste? Had they been accorded a decent burial, or as per her customs, had their bodies been burned and their ashes released into the sun? For she now knew, even without the results of Arthur's enquiries in Rome, that they were dead. They were dead, and she was alone. The last of her kin had faded into nothingness, and now she must find a way to continue. That was the hardest to come to grips with.

True, she had Vanora, Malva and the knights, but the place in her heart where she kept her home was fading. She tried not to think of it, of any of it, but sometimes the immensity of it all crept upon her; when she was working or at the stables, when at the great hall or just before she fell asleep.

Even now, as she stood alone in a place made for grieving, she could not abandon all control. The tears flowed because she could not restrain those, but she tried her hardest to control her breathing and was furiously wiping away the liquid traces of her pain. It was just too much.

She took a deep breath, and looked out across the starry night. One thing she could truly marvel at in this land was the expanse of greenery. Never had she seen such lush forests and she tried to focus her mind on that.

" Lady Ranya?" inquired a voice somewhere behind her. She gasped quietly and quickly turned to see who it was.

" I apologize, I did not mean to frighten you" said the kind voice of Arthur. He knelt down beside the grave she stood near, and traced the markings on the shield with his hand.

" Lamorak. He was a good man. A good knight" he said softly. Ranya wondered at how often Arhtur came here. She did not see him often, but she had come to know he was a very caring leader, a man who saw the lives of these knights as his personal responsibility, no matter what. Even after they had passed from this world.

" Have you lost many men, Lord Arthur?" she asked gently.

" Yes, I have. Their absence never strays far from my thoughts," he said, looking at her. The way he said it made it seem as thought their deaths had been brutal. Undoubtedly they were so, and the sadness in his voice made her want to bring him some form of comfort.

" When my parents and sister were killed, my uncle told me we should not dwell on the deaths of those we loved, but rather on their lives" she said, looking out over the expanse of graves.

" Your uncle was a sage man," he said, looking at her. Her words, spoken with such calmness, soothed him.

He had wondered at what she had come to the cemetery for. He often came to speak with his fallen brothers, and though he was surprised to find her here, he was not displeased.

After a few moments of silence, he spoke again.

"Ranya, I wish to apologize for your living arrangements until now. I should have realized the problems you would encounter at the inn" he said.

" There is no need, Arthur. I know how busy the times have been of late. Truly, it was fine" she said, with a small smile.

" Well, if ever you should require something, I beseech you come to me directly. You are a part of the fort now, and I wish you to feel as such" he said sincerely.

She smiled and nodded.

" Niall tells me you have done well for yourself at the forge," he said.

She was a bit surprised by this. Though she knew he appreciated her help in a way, he had never told her directly that he thought she worked well. He was a very straightforward, no nonsense man, and most of his rhetoric consisted of grunts and mumbling. That he would tell Arhtur that he liked her work made her oddly happy.

" I like the work. It soothes me, the same way it did back in my country," she said quietly.

" Your work is valued here Ranya, no matter what you may have heard. You are a great help," he said. So he had heard the talk about her around the fort.

" Thank you Arthur," she said. Suddenly, a thought came to her mind.

" Arthur, may I ask you something?"

"Of course" he said.

" Why do the people here fear Tristan so?" she asked. He sighed, lacing his hands behind his back.

" Tristan, since the day I have known him, has always sought simplicity. Being an outsider, it has always been natural to him. He prefers it that way, which is what I suppose makes him such a talented scout. He has never told me much about his past, save that his male kin have always been hunters and scouts" he said.

" But why is there such contempt for him?" she asked, not understanding.

He took a moment to collect his thoughts.

" Tristan is an exceedingly able man in battle. He thrives when faced with a foe, and has never tried to hide it. I think the people who reside here find his lack of emotion disconcerting, and so respond in the only way they know how" he said. She would know something about that, he thought. He hadn't missed the talk that had been floating about the fort.

Ranya found it odd that so many people could view one man in such a way, without ever speaking with him. She had even heard some women say he was insane. In all the time she had spent with the man that was the last thing that came to her mind. She'd seen the bloodlust on the faces of the Druze horse riders in her homeland and she had long known much about the warrior's thoughts, thank to her friend Wajdi.

She herself had had enough of bloodshed after her years of killing to survive, but she was free now. Tristan was not.

" And you…and the knights? You do not?" she asked. There was no accusation in her voice, only curiosity.

" Nay, his ways do not bother us," he said, sounding resigned. " We know what he has sacrificed for us, for the lives of his brothers. I would never question his allegiance," he said quietly.

She looked at his face, sensing there was more to this and knowing also, that this was not something her shared with many. He knew her silent question, but waited a bit before answering.

" Four years into his service, Tristan was captured in Eastern Reghed. He had been scouting ahead for us, and when he did not return, we searched for him. He had been taken by a group of rebels from Rome, who had infiltrated this very fort and had anticipated our crossing the valley" he said, the memory of such a breach in security still angering him.

"We found him five days later, chained to an abandoned well, left for dead. He'd been tortured, though he would never tell me what had occurred once he had healed. I later discovered the rebels had planned to attack us in an attempt to take over the wall. When he would not disclose our whereabouts, they abandoned him" he said.

Ranya stood very still, listening to every word. The image of his mauled back came vividly to her mind, the scars seeming so much deeper and brutal now that she knew how he had procure them.

"So you see, I have no reason to question him. His loyalty to us has long been proven, and each knight here stands proud to fight by his side. I trust him with my life" he said quietly.

They both stood quietly, silent musings passing through their heads.

Ranya understood now. The people from the fort had no idea of what had happened to this man, what he had done to protect the knights and the people themselves. She knew enough about the man to be sure of his desire for discretion. He would not have wanted the entire fort to know about his capture. It would draw too much attention.

As she lay in bed later that night, listening to the soft breathing that came from the direction of Malva's bed, Ranya's mind was consumed by thoughts of him.

The passive look of his eyes plagued her thoughts, for she now knew what could be hidden behind those eyes.

She knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that she could draw strength from this man.

And she would.

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_Please review! After such a long time, I need to get back in the game!_


	14. Water and warmth

Disclaimer: I own nothing except my original character.

Alright, it's been a while, but I am still very much dedicated to this story. Thanks to all who have reviewed.

Chapter 14:

The summer months passed swiftly, and with their passing came the colder wind that blew ominously from the north. The new season was setting in, and it brought a much-needed respite to all, since everyone had been working hard, making sure the crops were picked in time.

The knights had not been on a mission in quite a while, and though they appreciated not having to leave the fort, it made them nervous. So used to fighting all the time, it was hard to readjust, with the impending possibility that they might have to go into battle any day.

The air was becoming increasingly cold, and the lush greenness that surrounded them had begun its kaleidoscopic transformation, gracing the eyes of many with fiery reds and wild oranges.

This in itself caused Ranya to go into momentary lapses of amazement, where she just stared open-mouthed at the colours emanating from the trees.

Gawain and Galahad found much amusement in this, when they had caught her doing it on the wall.

And once again, Ranya's sensitivity to the cold had begun, and she found her fingers and feet felt it most. She was very thankful she had the heat from the forge to keep her warm during the day.

At the moment, the cold was the last thing from her mind as she soaked her tense body in the heated waters of the bathhouse. Malva and Vanora had convinced her to come with them, saying there was nothing better for a tired body than submerging it in hot, scented water. They had all been working very hard the past few days. Malva was busy with plentiful orders for warm cloaks and tunics, Vanora, as usual, had her brood to take care of, as well as the tavern, and Ranya had worked tirelessly the past few days, replacing hinges and fixing latches, helping to prepare for the coming winter.

She had never been to the bathhouse, mostly because she had never seen one and so did not know what it was.

She was happy she knew now. The women were the only ones occupying the stone pool and were conversing pleasantly amongst themselves. The steam from the hot waters surrounded them, while lit torches gave the room a peaceful glow.

" Vanora how is it you managed some time for your yourself tonight? With your lot, I'd think a few would have followed," said Malva, running water over her bare shoulder.

" I told Bors he'd have the goats to warm his bed if he didn't allow me to have one night to myself" she said with a grin, causing the women to laugh.

" I don't know how you do it Van" Malva said, still smiling as she shook her head.

" Hmm, well, I won't lie and say it's easy. It's bloody hard work, having a family. But you do what you must, because they are yours, and you are all they have. It's hardest when my Bors is away" Vanora said calmly. They fell silent, dwelling upon the void everyone felt when the knights were away. It was much more personal for Vanora, for she was constantly worrying if she would ever see her man again. It was a hard life.

They talked for quite a while, Ranya commenting here and there, but mostly remaining silent, listening to their words. She felt at peace, and a lazy tranquility had engulfed her this night.

Eventually, the two got out of the pool, ready to leave. Ranya told them she would stay a while longer, not wanting to give this up just yet.

When she was alone, she swam lazily in the hot water, lifting her arms above her head and drifting silently. So lost was she that she did not notice who had arrived.

Tristan was tired. Exhausted really. The first thing he had wanted to do when he had returned from his scouting mission with Lancelot was to go his quarters and fall into bed. But he was filthy, and as tired as he was, he knew he would be in a foul mood come morning upon seeing dirty sheets.

They had been gone four days, and had only had one night of full sleep.

Walking into the bathhouse, he had expected to find it empty at this hour. However, he found the bath to be occupied by a dark skinned nymph.

She had not heard him; else she would have covered herself. He felt no shame in taking in her naked form, which was so splendidly displayed to him. Her womanly curves accommodated the flowing water around her, and Tristan thought he had never seen anything so seductive. She had sort of innocent expression of pleasure on her face, as if water was the most marvellous thing in the world. Her olive skin looked like liquid bronze as the water made it glisten in the candlelight. The swell of her breasts and the flat plain of her stomach were hidden and exposed intermittently, as she dipped lower into the water.

It had been a long time since he had seen a woman naked, and usually this form of abstinence did not bother him so much. Now though, he felt a familiar stirring in his loins as he leaned against one of the stone pillars. She was sensuality in the flesh.

He cleared his throat loudly, letting her know he was there.

She gasped and turned sharply towards him, covering her chest with her arms and keeping her lower body submerged. She stared at him in shock for a moment, backing away towards the edge of the pool.

" You-…you are back" she said numbly. He fought back a grin at her stunned face.

" I am" he responded, still looking at her. Even with her darkened skin, he could perceive a deep flush escalating on her face and neck. She surprised him, in that she had not immediately screamed at him to leave. He was not such the gentleman as to go out of his way to preserve a woman's modesty. And there was something about this particular woman that stirred him to take as much of her in as he could.

" You should not stay here alone too long after dark. Your safety is not guaranteed," he said, taking a linen robe from the bench and handing it to her. This time he made a point of looking at the stone mosaic on the wall across the room. There was no need to push things.

" Thank you for your concern, but I was not planning on staying long" she said, quickly enveloping herself in the robe. There was no way to hide the irritation in her voice, nor did she wish to. How long had he been there? He could have made his presence known sooner, or at least left her to her solitude upon finding the baths occupied.

" That may be so, but certain acts of violence can be executed quite quickly. You should take care to avoid situations such as these," he said, never once betraying the passivity his face strove so hard to uphold.

" You mean situations such as a knight of the court wilfully intruding upon a woman's privacy with little regard to her modesty? Is that an accurate depiction, my lord?" she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

He fought a grin.

" Indeed. Very accurate" he said, removing his filthy tunic. She had fire, this one.

"Well, would it be too much to ask of you to refrain from participating in such behaviours? I am not some trinket to be gawked at" she said.

" I'll make it a point to try" he said, the corners of his mouth turning up. This was very unlike him. This kind conversation was usually reserved for Lancelot.

She said nothing, simply exhaled and turned to leave. But as she passed the last stone pillar in the bathhouse, something made her look back. Perhaps it was simply a desire to avenge the recent transgression imposed upon her person…in any case, desire was somewhere at the cause of it. He was sitting on the edge of the pool, one foot brushing the soothing waters, while the other leg was bent. He was prodding his left shoulder, being very careful. Another injury perhaps? Despite her previous agitation, she still felt worried for him. These sentiments were really starting to be a bother.

"You know, for someone who dislikes being observed, you certainly do a good job of it yourself," he said, his distant voice creating a faint echo.

Making up her mind, she walked back towards him.

What happened to your arm?" she asked.

" Small mishap with a lancet" he said.

The said 'small mishap' was a vile gash on the inside of his shoulder, which was at this point covered with a bloody crust. Evidently, the need for a hot bath was more pressing than the treating of a wound.

"You should have let Lugaid have a look at that," she said, kneeling down next to him.

He did not understand her. Just a few moments ago she was berating him for his intrusion, and now she was helping him. Women.

"Here" she said, taking the wet cloth from him. He said nothing as she cleaned the wound, simply closed is eyes and let her do as she would. At this point, he had absolutely no energy to protest. She was gentle, but efficient. The cleansing of a wound is never an agreeable experience, and she knew this. There was no trace of meekness or fear as she went on with her work, as some of Lugaid's female aids often showed whenever they treated him. It was a welcome change.

She did not ask for a detailed explanation of how he procured this particular wound. She imagined it was simply one among many.

"Do you have anything to wrap this with?" she asked.

He nodded, his eyes still closed.

" On the bench"

She went to retrieve a rolled up piece of cloth that looked like the ones used by Lugaid to wrap wounds.

As she turned however, she was rooted to her spot. Sometimes, we are faced with moments were the truest of images graces our eyes. For Ranya, this was one of those moments. His outline was cast in the incandescent reflection of the water and his head was slightly bent forwards. He passed a hand over his eyes, trying to chase away the exhaustion. She could barely perceive the ragged scars on his back.

He looked so tired, so resigned. To see such a normally strong and powerful man look so…defeated. She could not help but wonder if it was always like this for him. Was he always alone when apart from the other knights? Was there anyone here at the fort t to care for him, or care what happened to him for that matter? She knew for certain that she was now one of the rare few that had seen this side of him.

She came back to kneel beside him, and wrapped the cloth around his shoulder. It was not a deeply serious wound, but it still had o be taken care of.

As she tied the knot, she let her fingertips brush one of the scars on his upper back. She did not know why she did it.

His muscles tensed immediately, and in the quickest of flashes, he had her small wrist in his firm grip. And once again, the dark shadows in their eyes collided. She was breathing harder than he was, she noticed. She supposed it took more than the proximity of a woman to faze him.

A stillness filled the room as they looked at each other.

Ranya could bear it no longer.

"I-…" her speech was interrupted by Tristan's mouth on her own. There was no brutality to it, but she felt his demand that she not push him away. Immediately, she was lost. Lost to her senses, lost to everything around her. All she knew was his smell, the feel of his rough hand on her wrist, his lips. For the life of her, she could not protest. Not because he was not allowing her, but more because she did not want him to stop. She felt his teeth graze her lower lip and then bite down very gently.

And just as suddenly, his lips were gone. Opening her eyes, she saw him turn back towards the water. He said nothing, provided no explanation for what had just happened.

She did not speak, nor ask him why. For some reason, she did not feel compelled to. She stood and went to gather her clothes and made her way towards the large wooden doors that led to the cold, night air.

" Thank you" she heard him say, so quietly it was almost lost among the gentle rustling of the water.

She briefly paused in her step, but finally left the bathhouse.

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The night air felt heavy upon his face, weighing down on his tiredness. His room was dark, save for the small slivers of sombre moonlight creeping through the window.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he wondered just what had gone through his mind earlier. He wasn't the type to go after women. The women he spent his time with charged him for it, and they weren't that hard to find.

But Ranya, she wasn't one to trifle with, and he knew that well.

Being so near to her earlier, he just could not help himself. He'd never wanted anything more than he did then. He still wanted her, even now, which is what troubled him most.

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"Bors, for hell's sake, do something about your children! I am trying to work here!" bellowed Vanora, her arms laden with ale mugs. Two of her eldest children were currently running around the crowded tavern, chasing each other.

" Right lads, I'm afraid that's it for me" Bors said, getting up from the table the knights were currently assembled around.

"Don't forget your cattle there Bors" Lancelot said, revealing another one of his cheeky grins. Bors, to his credit, chose wisely to ignore the comment and left the tavern with his two children in tow.

" I tell you, sometimes those boys are worse than my children," said Vanora to Ranya, nodding towards the knights. Ranya had agreed to help Vanora tonight, and was currently elbow deep in water washing the mugs.

" Well, men can be like that sometimes. I don't think they ever really grow out of it," said Ranya with a smile.

"Hmm, well I don't think that's the cause of it tonight. Have you heard about the cavalry coming in?"

"Cavalry? From where?" asked a confused Ranya.

" Rome, apparently. Arthur spoke to the knights this morning and they arrive in two days. That's why the men are having their good time tonight" said Vanora.

A roman cavalry at the fort. This certainly did not bode well for Ranya. What if they found out about who she was? What if they heard of what happened at Gallus' fort and were looking for her?

Vanora saw the change in her face.

"Ranya, don't worry. You are safe here. They can't touch you here" she said, placing a hand on her shoulder.

Ranya tried to take comfort in Vanora's words, but she still had a lingering fear of what could happen if she was discovered.


	15. Visiting Threat

_Disclaimer: I own nothing except my original character._

_Apologies to all those who have read this story! It is very difficult to write (without being rushed) and balance a crazy study schedule as well! I thank you all for your patience and for your amazing reviews! You guys are great!_

_Warning: This chapter contains some sexual content, so ya be warned…_

Chapter 15: Visiting Threats

Ranya was at the forge when they arrived. Thundering through the courtyard, one had to admit it was an impressive sight. Sitting atop their great beasts, twenty men rode through the great gates of Hadrian's Wall, making a show of bright golds and deep reds.

Many of the fort's residents emerged from their homes to see what the fuss was about.

Niall did the same, but Ranya chose to remain near the stone corner by the forge, safely hidden from Roman eyes, but still able to see what was happening.

Arthur had come out to greet them, as was expected of him. Most of the knights had gathered behind him, near the stable entrance.

"What purpose do the tassels serve, d'you reckon?" asked an amused Gawain under his breath.

"Enemy distraction?" proposed an equally amused Lancelot. It was true; these Romans took themselves too seriously. Always covered in various metals with the sole purpose of impressing whomever they crossed paths with. It was all a load of bollocks, in his opinion. It takes more than a uniform and armoury to measure a man's skill. The only way to judge such a thing was in battle, and anything else was just show.

Arthur had once told him this kind of modesty was a very prominent Christian teaching. Lancelot felt it was just a matter of common sense, but he kept that particular opinion to himself. He and Arthur already engaged in far too many debates about such things.

"Commander Castus, I see you have made yourself quite at home here", said the man who had led the cavalry. Indeed, he looked quite the imposing part. A tall man with broad shoulders and sharp features, it was not hard to imagine why he was head of his cavalry. A born leader some would say, though his capacities did differ from Arthur's, in that he preferred to command using fear, rather than cater to the sensibilities of the masses.

"General Faustus, welcome to Hadrian's Wall" Arthur said, approaching the visitors.

"I trust your journey went well?"

" Oh yes, well enough. Beastly weather, and all that" said the General somewhat distractedly, looking around at the gathered crowd.

" Yes, I'm afraid this land is a host to such conditions," said Arthur. Every time someone from Rome came to the wall, there was always some complaint about the weather.

" I don't see how you can endure it, and in such an uncivilized land" said Faustus, while looking at a group of men dressed in their work garb. From the undisguised look of disdain on his face, Arthur knew what he was thinking, and he didn't care for it.

" Your horse and those of your men will be well looked after General. If you wish it, get some rest in your quarters, and someone will come for you when it is time for the assembly"

" Very well. Until later then" said Faustus, already following the chamber servants. It was clear that this Roman wished to have as little to do with the people from the fort as possible. If this was the case, he was going to be rather surprised at the banquet later that night.

This in itself caused Arthur to smile a little.

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" What is your current situation concerning the natives here?" asked Leonius Faustus, directing his inquiry to Arthur. The knights had gathered for the formal round table assembly that had been called for as a result of the cavalry's arrival.

Upon arriving, Commander Faustus had been rather taken aback by the knights' presence. His own second in command was the only one present from his cavalry. He thought it highly impertinent that these knights were attending a political meeting.

Arthur had informed him that he believed all is men to be equal, and held no secrets from them within this fortress.

A blatant sign of weakness on Arthur's part, Faustus thought.

"The woads, you mean," said Lancelot. It had become inherently clear to the knights that this Roman official knew absolutely nothing about the island he had traveled to.

"Their name is hardly of importance. In every land I have traveled to, they are all the same, a nuisance" Faustus answered.

"They are contained for the moment. They occasionally venture south, though we have not seen such an incident for a few months now" answered Arthur, veering the conversation back to point.

"I wish to ask you General, how many merchant ships leave the Gaul coasts for Britain?" asked Arthur. Now that Faustus was here, perhaps they could get some answers about these rebel merchants traveling through the lands unchecked.

"Merchant ships? I believe there are about ten or so a month. Why do you ask?"

"There has been an increase in merchant activity, and my sources tell me a large number of caravans are traveling unchecked throughout the lands" said Arthur, carefully observing Faustus' reaction.

"What makes you believe this has anything to do with Rome?" asked Faustus.

"It has come to my knowledge that many cavalries of the Roman army have been extracted from this island, and those who remain are becoming less stringent on traveling merchants from Rome" said Arthur.

"Hmmm, and these sources of yours…Do you find them to be trustworthy?" asked Faustus with a raised brow.

"Entirely" replied Arthur. Lancelot found it difficult not to roll his eyes at this Roman's remarks.

"Enough to place such negative suspicions upon citizens of the Roman Empire?" the roman asked, a goblet of wine poised at his lips, his eyes focused on Arthur.

"A Roman name does not disqualify the man himself of criminal intentions, General. Not all Roman men are noble of heart," said Arthur, who was growing impatient with these deviations.

"Then they are not truly Roman. If he transgresses against the Empire, then he is not of pure descent," answered Faustus with assurance.

"Do you not then believe that a man is wilfully responsible for his actions, no matter where his allegiance stands?" asked Lancelot with a slightly raised voice that clearly demonstrated his irritation with the general.

Faustus looked to Lancelot's direction, pointedly annoyed that he had spoken.

"Arthur, perhaps it would be wise of you to exercise more control on your men," he said, still looking at Lancelot. The tension in the hall had become palpable in the past few moments, and at this last comment, the knights tensed visibly.

"My men are not in my possession to control. I have no ownership over them" Arthur said, emphasizing every word.

A small smile graced General Faustus' lips.

"It is through the powers in Rome, _Commander _Castus, that you uphold your current position. And it is through those same powers, that these men serve the empire. Therefore I would revisit my beliefs if I were you" said Faustus.

Both Bors and Gawain's jaws clenched, and Lancelot could feel his own fingers digging into his palms. This man was insufferable. They all knew they served Rome, but Arthur had never imposed his ownership over them. He knew the effect it had on their pride, and he respected them far too much to jeopardize that.

"I believe this meeting can be adjourned, Arthur. There is no need for any more tedious discussion at this point," Faustus said, standing up. The others did the same, not out of respect, but for the simple fact that they would not allow this man even the most modest illusion of power over them.

"Very well. Enjoy the banquet then, General" Arthur said calmly. There was no use pursuing this meeting, for it was clear that this General Faustus would not be diverted from his own opinions. And frankly, Arthur did not feel compelled to waste his breath.

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"Do you think he truly is unaware of the situation?" asked Lancelot, walking next to Arthur as they exited the hall. The general and his second in command had gone to their quarters to prepare for the banquet.

"He knows" Arthur replied. "His intention was to divert suspicions from himself, but there is no doubt that he knows and will do nothing to prevent it"

Lancelot sighed. If the Romans could not control their own from criminal actions, how were they to defend the land from other invaders? These merchants were peddlers of illegal goods, and a great part dealt in slave trade. Many were looters, who simply stole from the villages they came across and sold what they could find. They did not care if lives were not spared.

The night's outcome would be tense, to say the least.

00000

Ranya struggled with the front laces of her dark green dress, as Malva shuffled around the room getting ready for the banquet. Ranya really did not understand why she should go, since she was of no importance in the formal scheme of things. Vanora had informed her however, that Arthur always requested the presence of all the fort's residents when such banquets were held. It was, apparently, quite an enjoyable affair; with good food and company.

Ranya was not sure how to feel towards the visiting company however. It was true that Rome had an extensive empire, and it was highly unlikely that any of the men had seen her at Gallus' fort during one of her duels. She had heard from Gawain that it was their first trip to Britain. But she was apprehensive, and her instincts told her to be wary.

"I was right about that colour. It suits you beautifully", Malva said from behind her.

The bodice and overskirt were of a deep forest green, and was worn over a long sleeved white chemise and white underskirt. Ranya had never in her life worn something so beautiful. When she told Malva this, the seamstress laughed, saying this was the simplest of dresses. Others were much more intricate. Still, Ranya felt a little out of place in it. Among her people, the only time she would have worn something like this would have been at her wedding.

She had left her hair down, and her long dark brown tresses curled and waved wildly around her.

"Malva, are there banquets such as these every time a Roman cavalry comes to the fort?" she asked.

"Mostly, yes. I believe it is customary to do so. You should see the ways some of the roman generals act around the local girls, once they have enough ale. Its quite despicable, but the knights keep everything in check" Malva answered.

"Everything will be fine, Ranya! Don't worry so much" Malva said, upon seeing Ranya's expression. Ranya hid her anxiety and put on smile, not allowing Malva any more insight on her true feelings.

0000000

The hall was full, making the walls seem much more enclosing than they truly were. A tumultuous flood of colours danced before Ranya's eyes, turning the air into a whirlwind around her.

Torches lined the stone walls, ablaze with fiery light. The high ceiling housed a multitude of cheerful sounds and hearty laughs. The people of the fort were completely enamoured with the festivities, a welcome change from the daily goings on she supposed. Couples danced to the lively music played by a few men from the market, and everyone had a goblet of wine or a mug of ale in their hands.

"Goodness Ranya, you look wonderful! Malva, you truly are an artist!" exclaimed Vanora upon seeing the two young women.

"Well, I've had quite a bit of practice, but Ranya is the one who truly makes the dress beautiful" she said. Ranya smiled and thanked both women for their compliments. She still felt very strange about wearing such a beautiful garment, but as she looked around the room, she could see that all the women present were adorned in dresses of similar fashion.

"You were finally able to rid yourself of the children for a night?" asked Malva.

"Yes, thank the gods! Most of them are in their beds at this hour, but my oldest is keeping watch. Have you seen Bors anywhere? I've a feeling he is going to drink himself dumb tonight," said Vanora.

"Hmm, I believe I saw him engaged in a lively game of daggers, and no worries my dear, drunk or not, his lack of skill at daggers never falters" said Gawain, who had appeared behind them, a roguish grin on his face.

"You shush!" Vanora responded, slapping him on the shoulder and trying to conceal her own smile.

Ranya was mightily entertained by the group's banter, preferring to listen contently to their exchange. Goodness, she never thought she would see so many people in this hall!

It seemed as though everything had become alive with the spirit of these people. She saw men and women laughing together, children ducking behind the dancers as they played their own games.

She closed her eyes and let the sounds bring her home. Perhaps she could make a new home here, with the people she had come to know. Although it was a vastly different place, it was somehow the same. Perhaps it was because she had found a people not unlike her own, who were trying to survive in a rapidly changing world.

Through all the heartache and loss, perhaps some semblance of peace could be found here.

And in a flicker of lashes, the dream was shattered. A pair of harsh, Roman eyes stared back at her not a few paces away. She was frozen on the spot, hoping against hope that it was merely a sweeping gaze, and not a pointed evaluation.

But his eyes would not relinquish their hold on her, and her blood began to turn cold. She did not know this man, but she did know the look in his eyes. Not recognition, but suspicion.

She left the others and went to hide behind a large stone column near a corner. She needed to gather her thoughts. This man's presence at the fort had just become a weighty problem for her.

'Calm yourself girl!' she thought to herself, as she tried to slow her breathing.

"He has been looking at you for most of the night" said a rough voice.

"I should never have come tonight" Ranya said, berating her self for listening to Malva.

"It makes no difference, he would have discovered you sooner or later" said Tristan. He had anticipated this situation, and he would ensure nothing harmful came from it. Of that, he was certain.

"Is there no corner of this world where I can be free of them!" Ranya said, more to herself than to the dark scout in front of her.

"The Romans may think they own this world, but they don't own you Ranya" he said, trying to distract her.

"No, they most certainly do not" she said, a small smile escaping her.

They had not spoken of the incident in the bath house, but the change between them was palpable. Thinking of it, she actually felt her cheeks and neck grow warm. 'This is becoming absolutely ridiculous' she thought to herself.

The way he looked at her, it made her want things…it made her want to unabashedly feel, just feel. Without guilt or reprimand, his eyes made her want to give in.

And by the gods, he knew it.

The usually cool stone of the wall and column she was leaning against lost their attributes. She no longer felt the rough texture of sand and stone, nor did she feel the cool draft of the hall on her neck.

Simply the luscious warmth of the moment, and the roughness of his thumb as he slowly let it run along her lower lip. His dark eyes were fixed upon that plump flesh, as though he could not look away.

They were alone, no one ventured in this more sombre corner of the hall.

Ranya felt him draw closer, and searched within the depths of his eyes. Not inquiring, he knew, but as though framing every moment.

She felt the taught muscles of his thighs as they brushed against hers, his hard hips trapping her softer ones. His lean chest crushing the full, supple weight of her breasts.

Wanting more, she brought her lips to his, feeling his stubble gently leaving tiny jolts along her cheeks. His hand sought hers and in one fluid movement had it trapped above their heads.

The music and laughter seemed so distant now. Not that it mattered to either of them.

Two silent souls seeking stillness within these populous confines.

They were both breathing heavily, each challenging the other for more. Tristan felt he could never have enough of her lips, her sharp intakes of breath, the small whimpers escaping her.

"Wait for a moment, then follow me" he said roughly. She simply nodded.

He was walking around the room, ignoring everyone. He looked to the side of the room where he knew the roman commander and his soldiers would be. Fully engaged in a round of drinking. Somewhere in his lust filled mind, he knew it was imperative that he avoid any potential conflicts for Ranya.

But the Romans were busy, and by the gods he was going to enjoy this.

Ranya saw him exit through the door near the curtain on the other side. Walking cautiously between the various groups, she managed to stay out of sight. She had noticed that most of the cavalry were already far gone into their drinks. The commander himself seemed quite preoccupied with none other than Moira.

Everything seemed so hazy, but once she opened the door and stepped to the other side, everything felt right once again.

Tristan, who had been waiting for her, took her by the hand and led her through another door that led to a hallway she had never seen before. As they walked, the music and laughter slowly faded into a far off noise. They reached the last door of the hall and went in.

The door closed, and she was pressed against it. The feeling of Tristan's hard body against hers and the strength of his arms around her waist were overwhelming, but she felt a comfort in his presence.

He kissed her roughly, and by Manat, she let him! Never had she felt anything close to this. She had only known the brutal side of this, the potential violence of the act.

The sensations Tristan was making her feel now were indescribable. She shut away her past, because this was Tristan, and for reasons she will never know, she knew now, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that she could surrender to him.

With a frenzied passion she pulled at his tunic, which he finally removed himself. She thought she might burn her hands when she placed them on his muscled chest. She once again felt the roughness of his stubble on her neck, as his lips traced a fiery path there. Dimly, she noticed the altar at the far end of the large room. This couldn't be, no…

"Tristan! This is their place of worship. The house of their God!" she hissed. Both of them were unaware of the teachings of Arthur and the Romans' religion, but Ranya knew this must be where they prayed.

"So?" he said simply, the corner of his mouth twitching. If it was possible, the heat she felt intensified tenfold. Tristan was not one to be prone to scruples, especially in times like these.

Tristan deftly undid the front laces of her bodice, his eyes never leaving hers. He then undid the laces of her chemise and pulled the sleeves down her arms. She pulled them free and submit herself to his hungry gaze.

Tristan cupped her round breasts, amazed by her dark skin. Not being able to control himself any longer, he lifted her by the waist and brought them both over to a nearby stone table.

She felt the cool stone beneath her thighs as he lifted her skirts. She helped with the laces of his breeches, frenzied, impassioned. He had her skirts bunched up about her waist, and the top of her bodice was pulled down so that her arms were stuck in the sleeves. She didn't think he noticed.

The air was heady, thick with a lusty fog and so heavy with need it was tangible.

He entered her in one urgent thrust. She gasped and bit her lip. It had been some time and she was unused to the feeling. He knew this, could sense it and did not move for a moment. He knew she was no virgin. Only a naïve fool would believe such a thing after seeing a woman survive captivity in a roman fort.

He felt guilty, ashamed really. His desire for her had taken precedence even though he knew what she'd suffered.

It surprised him when she pressed her hand on the small of his back, urging him to move.

She was ready, and there would be no more waiting

One hand clutched his strong shoulder as he thrust inside of her. He felt her thighs tighten around his waist, encouraging.

Ranya marvelled at the effect she had on him. She never thought of herself as a sensual woman. And yet he clung to her, one hand griping her waist and the other under her knee. The strength of his thrusts almost made her fall back, as her arms were restricted because of her sleeves, but he tightened his hold on her waist. This was not a tender coupling, but Ranya didn't care. All she knew was that she needed to feel him, in any way possible.

She could feel the heat rising inside of her, the addictive friction that their meshed bodies were creating. Arching her back at the sensation, she gasped his name, the sound of it echoing in the room.

This was all it took for Tristan. His own guttural cry mingled with her gasps of pleasure, the sounds echoing in their midst. They both collapsed on the table, his face in the crook of her neck.

He lifted them both, and let his callused hand trace the marking on her temple. A last mark of reverence, a tender end to their so-called blasphemy.

Neither cared. If this was sin, let hell dispel its wrath.

_Let me know what you think!_


	16. Defiance

_Disclaimer: I own nothing except my original characters. _

_Ok, so this is what happened: Some time ago, my computer suffered a total breakdown and I, as you can imagine, suffered much the same thing. While I had backed up some of my work, a lot of it was lost as well. I was so completely depressed and deflated as a result that I just couldn't bring myself to start everything over. I actually started a completely new story (a LOTR __Éomer fic) to help get back in the game, because a lot of my work for Redemption was lost and I just couldn't face rewriting everything yet. Side note: I have come to truly loathe technology, all it does is sucks you into its pretty, high tech world and then the cage comes down and you are filled with self-loathing for EVER trusting a machine!! Blurg…_

_But I'm back! So many thanks to those who have read this story and my apologies for the long wait. You guys rock my King Arthur socks! I hope you havn't given up on this story! Also, I've edited a few things from the preceeding chapter, just to make it all cohesive. _

Chapter 16:

The mornings that follow evenings of festivity are, more often than not, very quiet ones. One sees a marked difference, as the sounds of working life that are normally heard throughout the fort are noticeably absent in the early hours of the day.

Oddly enough, it was this absence of sound that drove the last remnants of sleep from Ranya's mind. Seeing the crisp, bright sunshine begin to creep into the room, she allowed her body to slowly accustom itself to the new day.

She heard the sharp crack of the dying fire, accompanied by the deep sound of someone clearing their throat.

He looked different in the morning, she noticed. He wore his dark breeches, but had not yet done up the laces all the way, trying to revive the fire a bit instead. He wore a light shirt with the sleeves pushed up, and as he bent over the hearth, she admired the graceful movements of the muscles beneath it. The various scars on his forearms stood out because of the uncompromising morning light. These were none so serious as the one's on his back however, which even in the midst of what had transpired between them, she sensed he was still hesitant to let her see fully.

She of course could not fault him his reluctance, as she herself had quite a collection of scars she would rather keep from him. In the dim light of night, she had allowed for some laxity in that regard, as she was sure he had. However, she could not bring herself to reveal to him all of her marks, the trespasses made upon her body and especially, the evidence of her enslavement.

The brand on her shoulder was something she was particularly anxious about. She knew he had probably seen worse in his lifetime, but she was loath to expose it to him. It was her modest attempt at female vanity, she supposed.

Ranya sat up on the bed, keeping the fur close to her bosom so as to keep the slight chill at bay.

"There'll be hot water in a few moments, if you need it" he said, bending to stoke the fire.

"Oh, thank you" she said. She looked to one of the windows, surprised to see Tristan's hawk perched peacefully upon the ledge. The sight of it brought a small smile to her lips.

The previous night had not unfolded as she would have expected, but she regretted nothing. She couldn't explain most of what had occurred, but only knew that it had felt right somehow.

He had surprised her after their little interlude in the chapel. He had slowly righted her dress, and taking her by the hand, and had wordlessly led her to his chambers. Neither of them were particularly concerned about missing the night's festivities. Ranya especially, considering the rather sizeable roman presence.

She tensed at this thought, realizing that this issue would still have to be dealt with somehow. How long would the cavalry remain at the fort? She could make herself scarce for a time, but not forever.

The sound of rustling cloth directed her attention back to Tristan, who was getting dressed. She noticed his sword and dagger belt were on the chair near the door.

"Are you going scouting?" she asked.

"Just a tour of the land near the wall. Customary, after these banquets" he answered.

Ranya stood and began dressing herself, understanding this as a dismissal of sorts. She was unsure of the status their relationship now. Was the previous night a singular occurrence, never to happen again?

She must have been truly deep in thought, because when he said her name, she hardly noticed.

She looked up at him just as she was about to do up her front laces properly, and found a stern expression on his face.

"What is it?" she asked uneasily.

"I should return sometime after sunset. I want you to stay away from the Romans at any cost. You must not attract attention to yourself and you must make yourself invisible. Stay in your room or mine, but do not wander the corridors aimlessly. And do not even _attempt_ to go to the tavern" he said, taking a step towards her with every sentence.

"Oh? And I assume I shall do without food all this time?" she said, finding his demands a bit extreme.

"I will inform Vanora of your situation on my way out" he said, crossing his arms over his chest and looking oh-so intimidating.

Ranya, however, was not one to be easily intimidated.

"Tristan, this is absurd! Besides, I have to go to the forge today, Niall asked me to start working on new chain mail" she said, standing her ground. Precaution was one thing, but did he honestly expect to stay in her room until the blasted Romans left?

"Ranya, I am not asking you, I am ordering you. For your own safety, do what I say" he said, warningly.

He was ordering her. She wanted to scoff and exclaim her disagreement, but checked herself. For the moment, he was acting in her best interest. She made an effort to calm her pride and understand that. She would try.

She exhaled. "Fine" she said, walking to the window to contain her emotions.

Tristan knew it was taking tremendous effort for her not to lash out at him for ordering her around, and he was impressed. Having lived through most of her adult life as a slave, and consequently, following orders, made receiving orders as a free woman rather infuriating.

Having finally secured his riding coat and dagger belt, he approached her.

"I know you may want to spend your time in your quarters today, but it would please me to find you here upon my return" he said, quietly.

She turned around abruptly, her dark eyes meeting his and searching for…something.

"Is that an order as well?" she asked softly, unflinchingly.

"No" he said simply.

She thought for a moment, considering him. What was it, between them?

"Maybe", she answered, turning back around to face the window.

She felt him behind her, the warmth of his body giving evidence to his presence. He lingered for a moment, as though hesitating, and after a moment she heard him leave.

She was surprised at the unexpected pang she felt when she knew he was no longer in the room.

* * *

By the mid afternoon, Ranya could stand it no longer. She knew she had promised to stay in the quarters, but that was before she felt the all-too familiar feeling of imprisonment. Who knew, better than she, the stifling torture that comes with being in one place for an extended period of time, without the luxury of movement or fresh air?

Taking monumental precautions and using only the servant's passages, she eventually made her way to the forge where she spent the afternoon in the backroom working on chain mail. It was tedious work, which on any other day she would avoid until it became absolutely necessary. But mindless work was exactly what she sought today.

Niall had levelled her with a look he normally reserved for clumsy stable lads when she arrived and when she defiantly matched his look, he held it for a moment before saying;

"Fine, ye clot headed lass! But keep to the back room, aye? And for shite's sake, keep bloody quiet!"

She was presently doing exactly as he said, a small smile touching her lips at the memory. He had spent the afternoon muttering what she could only assume were curses directed at herself in a language she could not understand.

"I don't know what you're smiling for; I should thrash you for being here. That is, if Tristan doesn't do it first" Vanora said, as she entered the room with a cloth covered basket.

Ranya stopped her work and rubbed her eyes a bit. The light was beginning to fade, and though the wax was still high, this type of detailed work was hard on the eyes with only candlelight illuminate her task. She sighed when she saw Vanora's look.

"Vanora…I'm sorry, but I simply couldn't. Ever since…well, it made me…remember too much" she finished lamely. She had not the heart to explain it all to her. It was a tiring thing, to remember.

"I see. Well, I understand that at least. But Ranya, you must be careful. You took a risk coming here," she admonished, placing some food on the table for her.

"Vanora, my being alive presents a risk now. Am I to remain locked away until the Romans retreat from this outpost?" she asked, trying to keep her voice under control.

"I fear I shall never be free"

* * *

"Lass, tis well past dark. Come, I'll escort you to the quarters" Niall's voice rang through the silent room. It was magnified by the silence in the streets, as many of the Wall's residents had retreated to their hearths for the night.

They left the smithy through the side entrance, which led to the knights' private stables. Thinking that Niall meant to lead them to the servants' passage that led from there, Ranya turned only to be pulled back.

"Niall? What-

"I've something to show you before we leave" he said gruffly, nodding his head towards the stall in the back.

Confused, Ranya walked to where he had indicated, wondering what on earth he was up to now. The last time he brought her into one of the stalls was to criticize the way she had shaped a hinge bolt. That particular incident had resulted in a loud and vulgar argument, during which the stable lads had to work around them while avoiding each other's eyes so as not to laugh.

As he opened the stall door, a magnificent black mare was revealed to her. Though a calm beast, the horse shook its inky black mane in response to the intrusion.

"Found her in a village near the mines. The trader said her owner passed away a few weeks back, but no one would buy her. Thought it fitting she should be back in the hands of one of her people" Niall explained, as he looked at the beast.

Ranya was stunned into silence. Was he…Did he mean this horse was hers? He was giving her this beautiful mare?

"Her people…"

"Aye, this horse was bred in Arabia lass. Belonged to a group of Bedouin breeders"

Ranya took in a ragged breath. She could feel the raw emotion welling up at her throat.

_Akil._ Gods, how she was reminded of her beloved childhood companion. This was the beast of her people, her heritage, _her home. _

Tentatively, as though afraid the beast was simply a figment of her mind, Ranya placed her hand on the mare's strong neck. Alive and real. Very real.

She placed one hand just over the mare's nose, as the other slowly felt along the neck and flank.

She could almost feel the blood coursing beneath the skin, the breath going into its lungs.

How many Bedouin hands had done as she was doing?

"I ken you've some journey ahead of you yet lassie, but one day perhaps, you'll be free of your demons" Niall said softly. 'Until then, she will be by your side' was the unspoken meaning. She had never heard him speak this way.

Tears rose from her eyes and made soft, glistening paths along her cheeks. She looked over at Niall, though she could see he was avoiding her gaze, focusing instead on the mare.

She went over to him and as she embraced him, she kissed his weathered cheek.

"Thank you for this" she said softly.

Awkwardly, he put his arms around her shoulders and she would have laughed had she not been so overcome with emotion.

"Hmmphm. Well, let's get you back then" he said gruffly, clearly unsure as to how he should handle this swell of emotion.

"No need for that, Niall" said a voice near the entrance.

As Niall turned to see who had spoken, Ranya could barely contain a groan. Tristan. This was not how she had hoped to end the evening.

"Tristan! It's no trouble, really" Niall said, a bit concerned. The silent knight's face was completely unreadable as he calmly unsaddled his horse in the stall. And while Niall knew this wasn't uncommon for Tristan, he was no fool. The wariness on Ranya's face said it all.

"It's alright. Ranya and I have a few things to discuss" Tristan said, not looking up from his task. Niall looked at Ranya, who nodded to him in reassurance.

"Well. Good night then" he said after a moment, deciding that if anyone could handle Tristan's mood, it was certainly Ranya.

"New horse?" Tristan asked, motioning to the black mare once Niall was gone.

"Yes. A gift, from Niall" she answered warily. While she certainly was no stranger to Tristan's typically calm demeanour, this was more than disconcerting. She had hoped to be back from the forge long before he arrived. He had been fairly adamant about her not leaving the quarters this morning. Surely his opinion hadn't changed so drastically?

Picking up his bow, which he had laid on the ground while he unsaddled Hétouyn, he made his way towards her.

"Come on", he said as he walked past. Sighing, Ranya looked once more at the beautiful black mare, then turned and hurried to catch up with Tristan's rapid strides.

The walk through the drafty stone halls was more than uncomfortable. Lit tapers provided the only light and her eyes had to adjust to the stretches where the light could not reach. He walked directly to his quarters and motioned for her go in when she hesitated.

The silence between them seemed to magnify every single mundane noise, so that she jumped slightly when he closed the door or put his bow and sword on the table. She felt rather foolish, standing there in the middle of the room as he bent to add more logs to the hearth. There was still water in the stone basin near the window, so she went over and began scrubbing at the smudges of soot left over from the days work. The water was ice cold, close as it was to the window, but she did not care. Anything to divert her attention from him. The room was so rife with tension, you could almost hear it.

"Tristan…I only went to the forge" she said, unable to remain silent any longer. He said nothing, but continued to undo the straps of the leather vest he normally wore under his chain mail. He seemed utterly calm, as though tonight was no different from any other night. Although Ranya had gleaned a few of his peculiar traits during her time at the wall, she was unsure of what was to come. Was he truly all that angry?

"If your death wish is so strong, I'll take you to the Romans tomorrow and show them that brand of yours" he said, his voice low as he pulled at the straps on his arm guards. The comment made her jerk her head towards him.

"I was careful! I stayed in the backroom for the afternoon, and it was only for a few hours!" she said in her defence. His tone made her want to act all the more defiant.

"Careful" he repeated. "Woman, I am a scout. I know what qualifies as careful, and what you did was far from it" He levelled her with a look that told her that yes, he really was that angry.

"So you expect me to hide! To cower in some dark, closed off room until they leave this outpost?" she exclaimed, wiping her hands on the fabric of her smock. He continued to look at her, those darks eyes giving her a glimpse of the menace he could be, and jerked at the last of his laces.

Throwing the arm guard on his bed, he walked towards her.

"I expect you to have some sense! I gave you simple orders, and you chose to ignore them. How long do you think you'll be safe doing that?" he asked, his voice rough and mocking. She met his look with a glare of her own, feeling a surge of anger course through her.

"I stayed out of sight, I was seen by no one!" she retorted. He stepped in front on her so that she was forced to look up to see his face.

"There were three high-ranking officers just outside the stables tonight, who could've seen you at any moment" his statement brought her up short. She had been so mesmerized by Niall's gift that she had completely forgotten the danger of being in the stables. "You aren't exactly inconspicuous, eh?" he said icily, passing a loose strand of her long dark hair through his fingers.

Furious, she slapped his hand away and made to strike him, but he caught her wrist in a vice like grip. She knew she was acting rashly and frankly, quite unreasonable, but then again, so was he! The memory of years of captivity brought a fresh wave of indignation, and she struggled to wrench her wrist from his grasp. Why couldn't he see?

"Stop, you'll only hurt yourself" he said coldly, but grunted when she her knee hit the top of his thigh. Damn, she missed!

He suddenly pulled her wrist behind her back and pinned her to the stone wall, the angle making her wince in discomfort.

"I know a thing or two about survival, Ranya. You would do well to listen to me" he said roughly, close to her ear. After a few moments of wriggling on her part, of annoyed grunts on his, she finally gave in. The man had her in an iron hold.

"I couldn't…I cannot stay trapped again" she quietly, trying to control her emotions. Slowly, he eased his hold on her and eventually let her go, so that she stood facing the wall.

"You have no choice. You can't afford to be proud" he said, knowing the sacrifice in asking this of her.

"It's all I have left" she said softly, turning to look at him. "Do you know what it is to have every part of you stripped away? To know that others look at you, and see a shell, a mere memory of who you were?"

His face still had that hardened look, his mouth set in a grim line.

"I know" he said simply.

Tristan walked over to the side of the bed where the fire now emanated warmth and light, pulling his tunic over his head before he sat down on the bed. He pulled a small vial from a satchel on the table, and began rubbing the soothing oil Lugaid had made for him into his knuckles. He could not hear anything from behind him, but he knew she was looking at him.

His scars had faded a bit over the years, but the raised welts were still very much there. He didn't particularly enjoy letting people see them. But if it helped her, he would give this to her. Let her see the trespasses on his own pride, and that he still lived. He would let her know she was not alone in her sacrifice.

After a moment, Ranya came to a decision and came to kneel in front of him. Gently, she took the vial and after pouring a bit of its contents into her hand, took one of his hands in hers and began rubbing the oil into his skin. He let her do as she would, her small hands much better at such a delicate job. She did this silently, first treating one hand and then the other, making sure the skin fully absorbed it. She could see small blisters on his knuckles and on the top of his hands.

When she finished, she began unlacing his boots, thoroughly surprising him. When had anyone taken his boots off for him?

Putting his boots to the side near the wall, she stood and hesitated for a moment. Tristan sighed, and pulled her towards him so that she stood between his knees. Deftly, he began undoing her smock and let it fall to the ground. He then proceeded to loosen the laces on the front of her dress, as she stepped out of her small boots. Pulling her skirts up, he skimmed his hand along a stocking-clad calf, slowly inching upwards and making her draw a breath as he removed them. Pulling at the rest of her laces, she shrugged of her dress and watched as it slowly fell from her body, his eyes following its path.

He pulled her onto his lap so that her knees were on either side of him, and she gently put a hand on the side of his head, her small fingers weaving their way into his hair. His eyes, so menacing and cold a few moments ago, now looked at her with a hunger that startled her.

His hands traced her back, briefly grasping her waist before cupping her backside and pulling her flush against him. His every movement, every touch, made her feel as though air was slowly escaping her, leaving her constantly breathless. This was different than the first night they had spent together. His movements were controlled, as though every one had been thought out before hand and been given a meaning.

She bent her head to touch her lips to his, craving the feel of his beard on her cheeks. Again, his kiss left her somewhat light-headed, and she gently bit his bottom lip, as though in revenge. Tristan groaned a deep sound that made her want him more if it was at all possible.

He turned them so that she lay on her back on the soft furs, and then stood to remove his breeches. His eyes never left her body as he undid the laces and let them fall to the ground. He wanted her to see how hard he was, how much he wanted her.

Spreading her thighs, he settled himself at the slick juncture between her legs, revelling in the evidence of her desire. Her soft curves and full breasts pushing against his chest made him want to bury himself deep within her, forgetting the world and everyone else in it.

Ranya let her hands run up his chest, the hair there tickling her palms. He was supporting himself on his forearms, and she could feel the tension ripple under his taut muscles. He entered her slowly, and she arched her back, relishing in the fullness he provided.

"Will you obey?" he asked, voice low and thick with lust. She met his eyes, feeling that they might sear her where she lay.

"Answer" he ordered when she did not reply, wanting to make sure things were clear between them. He needed to know that she would trust him in this, that she would trust him to keep her safe. The reasons why were beyond him. Why had she insinuated herself into his consciousness to begin with? No sense dwelling on it. She was there, and he had to accept it.

He had given Ranya a piece of himself. To anyone else, it might seem small, indeed almost trivial. To her, it was a gift. And she would take it.

"Yes" she said. His hands came to cup her face, one finger tracing her swollen bottom lip in such a gentle manner that it belied his reputation as a dangerous warrior. As he moved within her, she again wondered; _what was it, between them?_

* * *

Captain Leonius sat back in his chair, idly running his thumb over the ring of his wine cup as he tried to ignore the drunken slurring of one of his soldiers at the next table as he attempted to acquaint himself with some female company. How he hated this place! From the moment they arrived in this god-forsaken land, he knew he would hate it. The only comfort was that he had been given a larger cavalry to oversee, which meant that General Faustus was placing more of his trust in his second in command. It was a sure sign of advancement.

"Oh aye, sir. We've all manner of folk here. There's a man in the market who sells trinkets from Egypt, and another young 'un who comes from the north of Gaul, works in carpentry. Why, there's even a desert woman apprenticin' with the blacksmith!" said a dark haired serving girl. It was the last of her remarks that caught Leonius' attention.

"I don't know why they let her stay here. Have you seen her? Nothing but trouble, that one" said an older, flaxen haired with disdain.

"Well I dunno Moira, she seems alright to me" said the dark haired girl, now sitting on one of the men's laps.

The woman snorted, "Lass, that she-devil is nothing but a worthless runt! Why, I heard she's got some sort of brand on her, means she was a whore to some savage in her homeland" Moira said with disdain, clearly failing to recognize the hypocrisy of that statement.

Leonius ignored the rest of their mindless drivel, pondering what he'd just heard. A brand? On a desert girl? Faustus had told him about an escaped slave, reported missing by Commander Gallus' fort. Finishing his wine, he dropped a few meagre coins on the table and left for Faustus' quarters.

_Nervous! Please let me know how it is!_


End file.
